


Danseur

by SaintVier



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mention of eating disorders (Vilde), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 05:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14037675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintVier/pseuds/SaintVier
Summary: When Isak leaves his home and his friends to study at the prestigious Norwegian National Ballet School, he’s fully prepared to give up everything in order to devote himself to his dancing. But Even, a fellow student with astonishing talent and a total lack of understanding on the concept of personal space, quickly proves to him just how unpredictable life in the ballet world can be.In other words, the evak ballet fic you didn't know you needed.





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, and welcome to this story!  
> A few notes on the logistics of this world:  
> 1) Isak has been accepted to the Norwegian National Ballet School, which is fictional but modeled after the school at the Norwegian National Opera and Ballet, as well as my own experiences at San Francisco Ballet School.  
> 2) The story will probably follow the same general outline as the show, except, well, it's ballet.  
> 3) I'm super excited to share my combined love of Skam and ballet with you all—I hope you enjoy!

Isak heard Eva gasp dramatically beside him as they entered the main studio of the Norwegian National Ballet School. In terms of architecture, the room was a rather basic rectangular structure, but the sun shining onto the grey marley floor from the glass panel on the ceiling gave the studio a dazzling, almost ethereal feeling. And of course, the sheer amount of _space_ before them was a significant change from the cramped studio they had grown up in back at Bergen.

Isak kept his face an impassive mask, as he wanted to play it cool in front of the returning students, but his heart jumped in excitement when he saw the long mirror spanning across the entire front wall and the grand piano nestled into the far corner. No longer would he have to do barre to the same three classical CD tracks his old teacher had cycled between; here, there would be live accompaniment for every class.

“Isak, it’s _huge,”_ Eva hissed, tugging on his arm as they walked towards the corner where other dancers were stretching and quietly chatting. Her tone was earnest, but her casually impeccable posture gave away none of her enthusiasm. Isak made a noise of agreement and mimicked her careless elegance. It was indeed huge, and Isak couldn’t believe he had actually made it to the Norwegian National Ballet School, but he had to at least pretend like he knew he belonged there.

He could feel the eyes of the other students slyly sizing them up as they dropped their bags in the corner and sat down to stretch. So far there were about eight other boys and girls scattered in their respective cliques, stretching and catching up on each other’s summers. Normally they would have academic classes before ballet, but as it was the first day, this ballet class was the first time Isak was seeing his new classmates.

Everyone looked very lithe, fit, and flexible, which was expected but intimidating all the same. A tall boy with olive skin and dark hair falling into his eyes was comfortably resting on his stomach in the middle splits chatting with his friend, and a slim brunette girl was standing by the wall with her leg pulled into the air behind her almost touching her head, giving Eva the universal ballet glare of intimidation as she did so. She shifted her leg to the side so that it was pointing straight up at the ceiling and angled her body so that the name on her jacket–some prestigious Russian school–was clearly readable. Eva pretended not to notice the girl’s pointed stare but snorted loudly to Isak as she drew her long hair into a bun.

“Could she be any more aggressive?” Eva muttered. “God, I feel like I’m at a summer intensive audition.”

“It’s not ballet without aggressive stretching,” Isak replied with a grin. “It’s a necessary assertion of dominance.”

But Isak couldn’t help but size up his classmates in return. Even with everyone except the intimidation stretcher sitting on the ground, he could still see that he was one of the shortest boys in the class. Although he was considered relatively tall in the regular world, ballet generally favored men even taller than him, since it made partnering girls in their pointe shoes easier. He tried not to let that bother him, though–his teachers in Bergen always told him he made up for his relative shortness and flat feet with natural talent and musicality. But he felt a pang of worry as he continued gazing at the perfectly arched feet and long, hyperextended legs scattered before him; there was no guarantee that what passed for talent at Bergen Dance Center would fly at the Norwegian National Ballet School.

His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a pale girl with light blonde hair pulled up in a tight bun, who headed towards Isak and Eva with a smile when she spotted them.

“Hello,” she said in a high-pitched voice, gracefully sitting down in front of them after setting down her large pink bag. She was wearing a wrap-around skirt and a fuzzy pink cardigan over her black leotard, in sharp contrast with the sweatpants and T shirts Eva and Isak wore over their uniforms. “I’m Vilde, are you two new here?” As much as she looked the stereotypical ballerina, she clearly had none of the self-absorption and judgment towards newcomers typical of the ballet world.

“Yeah, we’re from Bergen,” Eva said in her easygoing way. “I’m Eva and this is Isak.” Isak raised his hand in greeting.

“Bergen, cool!” Vilde said excitedly. “I’m from Haugesund, but I hardly go there anymore—I’ve been boarding here for three years now.” She gave a dreamy sigh as she daintily pulled on her flat shoes. “It was a dream come true when I got in—it’s the best training in the country.”

Eva nodded in agreement. “I practically screamed when I got the email—I never imagined they’d actually accept me. Although when _Isak_ was accepted he wasn’t even sure he would come!” She elbowed Isak playfully in the ribs.

Vilde looked as if Isak had murdered a puppy. “You—you were accepted and weren’t immediately certain you would come?” she asked with wide blue eyes.

Isak shrugged and responded, “I mean, I like ballet and everything, but I didn’t want to leave my friends,” he said, thinking of Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi, and all the fun they would be having in their last two years of secondary school without him. He’d always loved dancing, but coming to Oslo to train full time was a huge and rather scary commitment.

Vilde simply stared at him with her mouth wide open, and Eva laughed. “Luckily I convinced him to come with me,” she said.

“Yes. Wow,” Vilde said, shaking her head in disbelief. “So few people get the opportunity to train here. Honestly, if Noora hadn’t left to study at the Royal Ballet in London this year, there probably wouldn’t even be spots for you in the class. Most people join when they’re far younger.”

“Wait, Noora?” Isak asked. “I think I’m living in her old room.” He remembered Noora’s name because his new flatmate had made clear all the ways Isak didn’t live up to her when he moved into the suite a few days ago. To use Eskild’s specific words, he was a “smelly teenage Neanderthal replacing our beautiful fragrant Noora flower.”

“Oh yes, I remember her saying someone else was going to rent her room when she was away,” said Vilde.

“The Royal Ballet?” asked Eva. “She must be really good.”

Vilde wrinkled her nose somewhat distastefully. “She is, but she’s only going there to be with a boy who came to the summer intensive here. William,” she said with a tone of mild disgust.

Isak agreed that leaving the country to pursue a summer romance was not the wisest course of action, but he did get a cheap apartment out of it, so he couldn’t really argue with Noora’s decision. The three of them stretched and talked about their backgrounds and life at the National Ballet Academy for a few more minutes before the teacher came in, a twiglike middle aged Ukrainian woman who introduced herself as Ms. Kravchenko. She had them carry the barres to the center of the room, and then briefly took role. There were about fourteen students all in all—eight girls and six boys.

“And I see we have two newcomers as well,” Ms. Kravchenko said in her clipped Ukrainian accent. “Welcome to the National Ballet, Eva and Isak.”

Isak awkwardly smiled and waved, feeling his face redden at the many stares directed at him. He and Eva had chosen the barre closest to the door, with Eva on the side closest to the mirror and him facing the door. Aggressive stretching girl, who Isak now knew as Ingrid, was behind Eva on the barre next to them, with a boy called Elias across from her and behind Isak.

Luckily they weren’t stared at long, as Ms. Kravchenko then introduced the pianist, Sana, and promptly began demonstrating the first _plie_ combination. The woman’s fragile-looking limbs moved with uncanny power and speed as she bent and straightened her legs, but Isak was relieved to see there was nothing overly complicated or difficult about the first combination. There were only so many different ways to do _plies,_ after all.

Isak settled into first position with his left hand on the barre and had just begun prepping his arms with the first strains of piano music when the door suddenly slammed open to reveal a tall figure hurriedly rushing in. He was tall, with long, slender limbs and an impressive quiff of blond hair.

“Mr. Bech Næsheim,” Ms. Kravchenko said wryly. “How kind of you to join us.”

“Sorry, Masha,” the boy said breathlessly, kicking off his sneakers and shrugging out of his denim jacket. He pulled off his sweatpants to reveal lean legs clad in high-waisted black tights. “Missed the bus again.”

Ms. Kravchenko ( _Masha?)_ simply shook her head with a smile and signaled for Sana to resume playing. Isak again prepared to begin the combination when the tall boy hopped over while pulling on his flat shoes and took the spot _right in front of Isak,_ leaving a little over a foot of space between them.

Isak bit back a sharp protest and grudgingly shifted backwards to make room for the boy who so clearly had no understanding of personal space. There were plenty of other barres with only one person on them that the boy could easily have taken, but instead he chose to situate himself where Isak and Eva were already crammed. Isak may not have the longest legs, but he did like to have the space to move his limbs freely without worrying about hitting other people. And since he’d arrived late, the boy didn’t even know the combination and was instead doing his own set of plies that was completely throwing Isak off. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

“Isak, is it?” Kravchenko suddenly said from behind him. He jerked his head in surprise and nodded, in the middle of a _grand plie._ The Ukrainian woman tapped at his extended thumb, which he quickly relaxed into the proper balletic position—it was a correction he often got back at home. “Try not to look so tense,” she said.

He almost opened his mouth to retort that he wouldn’t be tense if a certain asshole hadn’t stolen his barre spot, but instead nodded politely and continued doing the combination. When they turned around to repeat the sequence on the other side, Isak was able to observe everyone else in the room; their technique was flawless, and Isak couldn’t help but feel a bit flustered. He could also feel the boy’s eyes on his back behind him, and inexplicably he felt very exposed. When the combination was finished, Isak turned back around to end in first position on the other side, but the boy remained standing on the second side so that they were facing each other. Isak glared at the twinkling blue eyes across from him, but it must not have been very effective as the tall boy’s eyes crinkled with a slow smile.

Isak jerked his gaze away as soon as the last notes faded away, watching Ms. Kravchenko intently as she demonstrated the next combination and ignoring the flush rising in his cheeks.There were still numerous open barres the boy could move to, but he stayed put, casually swinging his long leg onto the barre to stretch. _So rude,_ Isak thought to himself.

Then the music for the next combination began and Isak realized he hadn’t picked up a single step. Since the tall boy was the only person in the room in front of him, Isak begrudgingly watched him and followed along.

As much as Isak wanted to criticize him, to find some flaw in his technique, the boy’s dancing was as perfect as it was irritating. His crisp _tendus_ landed in perfectly turned-out fifth position with every beat of the music, and his feet were beautifully arched. It was infuriating.

“Isak, don’t grind your teeth when you dance,” Ms. Kravchenko admonished, before turning to watch the other boy. “Very good, Even.”

Isak did the wrong arms once they turned around to do the other side, realized he was doing the wrong arms, tried to fix it, and ended up thoroughly confusing himself. He thought he heard the boy—Even— let out a quiet laugh behind him. Isak did his best to ignore him and made sure to carefully focus on Ms. Kravchenko’s instructions throughout the rest of barre.

Eventually the Ukrainian teacher told them to stretch on their own for a few minutes, and Isak sank into the splits facing Eva.

“What do you think?” he asked her. It was definitely a change from their small studio in Bergen, but so far nothing had been beyond their skill level.

“It’s a great class so far,” she replied, mirroring him in the splits and picking at a hole in her tights. “I’m super excited for the rest of the year.”

Isak nodded in agreement and continued stretching in silence. Then Even dropped down to stretch his hamstrings on the floor and regarded them with a wide smile that Isak pointedly did not return.

“Hi. I’m Even,” he said congenially.

“Yes, I know,” Isak retorted bluntly before he could stop himself. Even just raised his eyebrows at his surliness, and Eva let out a laugh of amused shock.

“Isak!” she chided him. “No need to be rude! I’m Eva, and this is Isak.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Even said kindly, before turning his infuriating smile back to Isak. “You already know my name? Why, I didn’t know you cared!” His tone was mirthful and teasing, and Isak felt himself redden once again.

“Well, it’s hard not to be aware of you when you decide to stand directly in front of me even though there are plenty of other open barres,” Isak countered, earning a swat from Eva. His words seemed to genuinely surprise Even though, and his teasing smile immediately dropped.

“Oh, do you want me to move?” Even asked with sincere, open eyes that made Isak feel like an asshole. He’d expected him to be arrogant and self-centered, but now it seemed like he was actually a nice person who just didn’t understand the concept of personal space.

“No, sorry, you can stay,” said Isak, feeling bad for coming across so harshly. “You, um. You’re a good dancer.”

Even’s twinkling smile returned, full force, and Isak began violently massaging his calf to avoid meeting his gaze. “Such high praise,” Even teased, earning a laugh from Eva. Thankfully, Ms. Kravchenko chose that moment to teach them the final combination of barre, and Isak was saved from having to respond to that. After doing _grand battements (_ with Even’s legs kicking significantly higher than Isak’s), the class moved the barres to the side of the room and began center.

Barre had gone fairly well, invasive barre partner aside, but when they began dancing in center Isak realized with dread how truly behind he was. Kravchenko’s swift combinations became even swifter, and without the support of the barre Isak struggled to make his body obey the quick changes of direction and complex sequences of steps. _Adagio,_ the slow sequence of leg extensions Isak had always hated, was especially brutal; everyone consistently extended their legs in the air at angles above ninety degrees (Ingrid’s was of course almost touching her head), while Isak hopped and struggled to find balance the whole time. His only condolence was that Eva was clearly struggling just as much as he was.

He almost cried with relief when it was time for pirouettes across the floor, as he had always been a natural turner. When it came to his turn he consistently did triples and ended with a quadruple, which alleviated his wounded pride somewhat. When he finished, however, Ms. Kravchenko pulled him aside to give him corrections.

“Great rhythm to your spot, but make sure you have a higher _passe_ , and don’t let your thumbs stick out like that. Show me again.”

Isak did another pirouette, trying to keep the corrections in mind, and she nodded. “Better, but make sure your feet are fully pointed. Since you don’t have natural arches, keep working on it and stretching your feet at home.”

Isak thanked her and took a moment to observe the rest of his classmates turning across the floor. They certainly all had better feet than him—Vilde’s were practically banana-shaped, and she gracefully turned like she was ready to step on stage and perform all four acts of _Swan Lake._ The dark-haired boy, Yousef, was consistently doing quadruples that were far cleaner than Isak’s, and Even, well...Even was perfect. He didn’t manage quite as many rotations as Yousef, but he danced with a natural ease and grace that was captivating, his neck long and his movements regal. Isak again realized that he had a lot of work to do before he could even start performing at everyone else’s level.

But he didn’t have long to dwell on his thoughts, as they began jumps next and it took the entirety of Isak’s focus to keep up with the quick footwork and refrain from collapsing on the ground in defeat. He grew more and more out of breath with each combination, and by the end of _grand allegro_ he was gasping for breath and dripping with sweat. Across the room, he gave Eva a look that said, _Is this for real_ , and she nodded vigorously as she bent over with her hands on her knees. He cast a glance at Even and was annoyed to see him panting only slightly, his white shirt dampened with sweat around his collar and down his slender back but nowhere near as drenched as Isak’s. When Kravchenko thanked Sana for her accompaniment and signaled the end of class, Isak gratefully gulped water and began to walk back towards his bag. But he realized with dread it was not over when the teacher said, “OK, girls, put on your pointe shoes and warm up your feet for pas de deux, and boys come out here and we’ll work on your _tours.”_

 _More jumping,_ Isak groaned internally, before going on to do the worst, most exhausted double tours of his life. Thankfully Ms. Kravchenko seemed to take pity on him and ignored his continual failure.

“Excellent job, Even,” she said. Isak didn’t have to look to know Even was doing it perfectly. After a few more minutes of torture, the girls finished putting on their pointe shoes and the instructor for pas de deux entered the room. He was a burly, bald Swedish man who introduced himself simply as Oscar, and he proceeded to address them with the pep and vigor of a sports coach. Isak would know—he’d done rugby, basketball, and swimming throughout his childhood before deciding he liked dancing the most.

“As you know, pas de deux is a dance of two, meaning you will not only be dancing with a partner, but will get to know every aspect of their dancing and their habits,” Oscar said, as if briefing them for a football play.

“Bech Næsheim,” he bellowed suddenly, pointing a thick finger at Even, who grinned in response. “Hellerud,” he said, turning abruptly to point at Vilde, who covered her giggle with her hand. “Get over here,” he beckoned.

Even and Vilde strode to the front of the room and stood side by side next to Oscar as he addressed the rest of the class. “Even and Vilde are perfect examples of a successful pas de deux partnership.” Even looped a casual arm around Vilde’s shoulders, and the two of them beamed at each other. Isak suddenly wondered if they were dating. “Their _Diana and Acteon_ pas earned them scholarships at last year’s Prix de Chalons, so watch them if you have any questions. Now the rest of you, pair up,” Oscar barked.

Isak and Eva immediately moved towards each other, but the Swedish man came over to intervene. “You two—what are your names?” he asked in a gentler voice, and they told him. “Isak, you’re too small for Eva. Chris, come over here.” Oscar beckoned over a muscular boy with dark hair and a cocky smile and introduced him to Eva. Chris gallantly took her hand and Eva giggled flirtatiously in return. _Are all pas partners destined to date each other?_ Isak wondered idly.

“As for you, Isak, I’ll pair you with Emma.” He guided Isak to a slim brunette who bore an uncanny resemblance to Natalie Portman.

“Hi Emma,” Isak said breezily. “I like your haircut,” he added, gesturing to her short pixie cut. He was surprised the ballet school allowed it.

“Thank you!” Emma replied cheerfully, fixing him with a bright-eyed grin. She was the smallest girl in the class, and her body was lean and muscular under her black leotard. If all pas partners were indeed destined to date, then Isak could certainly do worse. While pas wasn’t something he’d done back in Bergen (likely because he was one of three males in the entire studio), he wasn’t terribly worried. _After all, how hard can it be?_

Isak very quickly realized that partnering was in fact very hard, and he spent the majority of the class apologizing profusely to Emma as he fumbled with grips and caused her to stumble numerous times. Oscar tried to help out, but he had a class to teach and couldn’t spend the whole time teaching Isak the basics of pas de deux. While everyone else performed turns and balances in neat rows in the studio, Isak and Emma stayed in the corner and struggled to do a basic double pirouette without Isak inadvertently pushing her off balance. By the end of class Isak was bright red and sweating more out of nervousness than physical exertion.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned to Emma for the thousandth time. “I never learned this back home.”

“It’s ok, really!” Emma said cheerfully. “I’m sure you’ll improve quickly—we all have to start somewhere.” Isak was thankful for her patience but was still embarrassed and disappointed in himself. After thanking Oscar and the pianist, he grabbed his bag, muttered goodbye to Eva, who was chatting animatedly with her new pas partner, and headed to the locker room as fast as possible.

When he got there, he dropped onto a bench with a groan and leaned his head back onto the cool locker behind him. He was exhausted physically and mentally, and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a generous serving of the leftover pasta he knew was waiting for him in the fridge of his apartment. He had just begun pulling his sweatpants over his sweaty leggings when Even entered the room and dropped his bag on the bench beside him.

Even first pulled off his black ballet shoes, and then tugged his white shirt over his head to reveal a lean, narrow chest and defined abs. His pale skin was scattered with a fascinating array of freckles. Isak realized he was staring and quickly pretended to dig for something in his bag.

“Halla, Isak,” Even said casually while pulling his pants on over his tights.

“Hi…” Isak said guardedly. Even was still shirtless, and for some reason Isak felt weird meeting his eyes with all that skin exposed.

“You’re a wonderful dancer, you know,” said Even, now sitting beside him and bending over to put on his sneakers. Isak couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Yeah, right,” Isak snorted. “If nearly killing your pas partner counts as good dancing, then I’m the best,” he said sarcastically.

Even looked surprised at his response and turned to furrow his brow at him quizzically. “No really, you’re very good.” When met with Isak’s disbelieving stare, he added, “Ok, maybe your pas with Emma was a bit more Three Stooges than Nureyev and Fontaine, but you’re very musical and powerful in your movements. Me, I’m a flailing limp noodle.” He wiggled a long arm to prove his point and Isak couldn’t help but laugh.

“Uh, thanks I guess. You’re very musical as well. And very talented, for a noodle.” _Oh god, where had that come from?_

But Even just laughed, a strong, melodious noise that seemed to reverberate through Isak’s own chest. “You flatter me, Isak. That’s what every man wants to hear. In all seriousness though, I can totally help you with partnering if you want. Once you learn the basics it’s really not that hard.”

Isak opened his mouth to automatically refuse the help before realizing that having a mentor would actually be quite helpful. Was it weird that Even was offering to help him after only knowing each other for a few hours? Isak supposed it was probably just common decency, and decided not to dwell on it.

“That would be great, actually. Thanks,” Isak said, watching Even pull on a grey hoodie over his bare chest.

“No problem,” Even replied. “I’ll show you sometime before pas class next week.” Then he slung his bag over his shoulder, flashed that inscrutable twinkling smile at Isak one last time, and strode out of the locker room with casual turned-out steps. Isak wrote off the odd tingly sensation suddenly spreading through his body as overwork, and after gathering his belongings, he left for home as well.

After two bowls of pasta and a long, hot shower, Isak lay on his bed scrolling through his phone. Magnus was asking for advice about a girl on their group chat, but Isak had nothing to offer since it was all out of context for him. The sudden distance between him and his friends made him sad.

With a sigh, Isak lay back on his pillow and let his weary eyes shut. Thinking back on his sub-standard technique he had demonstrated that day, he vowed resolutely that from now on, he would do everything possible to improve himself and his dancing, even if he had to give up all traces of his old life to do so. With images of graceful balletic bodies and strains of classical piano music coursing through his mind, Isak’s fatigued body finally sank into a deep, grateful sleep.

 


	2. Vivace

 

Isak would have slept through his alarm and missed his second day of classes had it not been for Eskild’s animated singing and clashing of pans in the kitchen early that morning. With a groan, Isak rolled out of bed and began to shuffle painfully towards the source of the noise. His calves felt like hard blocks of lead, and his hip flexors were so tight he had to hobble stooped over like an old man.

“Eskild, what the fuck,” Isak stated groggily, peering at his flatmate, who was currently stirring something in a pan while belting a horrendous pop tune.

Eskild momentarily paused his singing to reply, “I’m making pancakes!”

“Is singing at seven in the morning a necessary part of making pancakes?”

His flatmate just waved a spatula at him disapprovingly. “Complain, and you don’t get any, ballet boy.”

Isak grumbled, but the pancakes really did smell good so he kept his silence and dropped down on a chair. Across the table, Linn gave him a relatably morose look of defeat.

“Eat up, my favorite flatmates,” Eskild chirped a few moments later, setting a plate of warm, crisp pancakes down in front of them. Isak didn’t hesitate to dig in.

“Thanks,” he said through a mouthful of flour and dough. He decided the free breakfast was worth the early wake-up call.

“Anything for you, my dear Noora Version Two,” Eskild cooed. “Speaking of Noora, how’s it going at that fancy ballet school of yours?”

Isak shrugged and replied honestly. “It’s very difficult. I’ll have to work hard to catch up to everyone else.” He thought back to last night, when he had promised to do everything within his power to improve himself, and sat up a little straighter in his chair.

“I’m sure you’ll get there in no time,” Eskild said kindly. Isak prayed to all the ballet gods that he was right, because he certainly didn’t want to continue making a fool of himself in front of his classmates.

After getting dressed and hastily throwing his dance clothes into his bag, Isak left his apartment and took the bus to the smallest building of the National Ballet School that hosted his academic classes. Today he had writing and “general sciences” until noon, a brief lunch break, and then conditioning, ballet, and variations.

Isak was relieved to find that academics at the National Ballet were as easy as the dancing was hard. The writing class pretty much covered everything he and Eva had learned at their public school in Bergen, and “general sciences” was a joke. He couldn’t quite restrain his look of disdain as the teacher covered basic principles of biology he had surpassed three years ago—it was a bit disappointing, to be honest. Isak had strongly considered becoming a biologist before ballet took over his life, but it was clear he wouldn’t be able to continue on that track here. Isak spotted Even across the room from him in the science class, but when class was dismissed he left before Isak could talk to him.

Vilde clearly shared Isak’s distaste for “general sciences” as she chatted with him and Eva in the hallway outside the locker rooms of the ballet studios, but for different reasons.

“I just don’t see why we have to waste valuable time on academics when we could be dancing!” she complained, pulling her blond hair into a ponytail.

“Well, there is this little thing called the law that requires we finish secondary school,” joked Eva, smiling at the other girl’s grievances.

“Well, yes,” Vilde conceded, biting her lip in thought. “But they could at least let us do it all online—that way we could finish sooner and focus on what really matters!”

“Online schooling?” Isak scoffed while chewing a large mouthful of cheese sandwich. “That would be even worse than what we have now!”

“The education may not be good, but it’s not like we came here to become doctors and lawyers,” Vilde replied. Isak had to admit she had a point. He may not be able to pursue a biology career here, but he had known that when he decided to attend. It was just another aspect of his previous life he would now have to sacrifice for ballet.

Eva and Vilde continued talking and making the most of their half-hour break before conditioning, but Isak thought anxiously about the dancing ahead of him and decided to go to class early. When he entered the room—a small studio with a wooden floor rather than the marley laid out in most of the studios—he found it already occupied.

Even was lying on his back on a yoga mat with his knee pulled into his chest, relaxing into the stretch. His eyes were closed peacefully, but they opened to gaze at Isak as he opened the door to the studio.

“Halla,” said Isak, feeling suddenly flustered for some reason. He grabbed a mat from the stack in the corner and placed it next to Even’s, a polite distance away.

“Hey,” said Even, sitting up to fix Isak with a smile. “Are you sore?” he asked, noting Isak’s grimace of pain as he sat down on his mat.

“Sore is an understatement,” Isak groaned. “I think all of my muscles have decided to betray me and start a revolt.” With reluctance, he flipped onto his stomach and started planking while Even regarded him with amusement.

“To be fair, their revolt isn’t unwarranted, considering all the crazy things we make our bodies do in ballet,” said Even.

Isak snorted. “True, but ballet is the enemy here, not me. I’m just a vessel for ballet’s ruthless dictatorship.”

At that, Even threw his head back and laughed, exposing his long, graceful throat. The sound filled Isak with warmth, and he made it his goal from then on to make Even laugh as often as possible.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Vilde, who greeted them cheerily and lay her mat in front of them, before proceeding to do crunches at a brutal, rapid pace. Even watched her with something like worry in his eye.

“You sure that’s necessary?” Even asked when she reached her twentieth or so set. “We are about to have conditioning class, you know. I’m sure Miss. Wahlberg will have us do plenty of ab exercises.”

Vilde didn’t slow down her vigorous pace, instead grunting, “It never hurts to do a little extra. The National Ballet is only going to hire the very best, after all.”

“I’m sure they’ll hire you whether you can do five-hundred crunches or ten. Have you eaten lunch?” Even asked gently. Isak again wondered if they were dating; the two of them seemed awfully close.

Vilde stopped her crunches and began stretching in “upward dog,” which showed off her impressively flexible back. “Hm? Oh, yes,” she replied offhandedly to Even’s question. That gave Isak pause—the handful of almonds she’d nibbled on during their break certainly didn’t constitute lunch in Isak’s opinion, but he figured it wasn’t his business to intervene. Vilde skillfully changed the topic, asking, “So Isak, how do you like it here so far?”

Isak responded much the same way he had to Eskild that morning. “It’s great, but I’m going to have to work hard to catch up with you guys. Especially with these biscuits,” he said, gloomily pointing at his flat feet.

“Oh, do you want to borrow my foot stretcher?” Vilde asked earnestly.

Even laughed in surprise and said, “ _You_ have a foot stretcher? You’ve got the best feet in Norway!”

Vilde looked mildly affronted and replied, “Yes, I have a foot stretcher, _Even._ How do you think my feet got to be this nice?” She extended a pointed foot towards Even’s face, who just shook his head incredulously. “Do you want it, Isak? I can give it to you after class if you like.”

Isak was skeptical as to the validity of her claims, as he was fairly certain foot flexibility was more a factor of genetics than stretching contraptions, but since he was desperate for help he accepted her offer.

“Really, Isak?” Even asked in bewilderment. “Your feet are perfectly average; you don’t need a foot stretcher.”

Isak took on a tone of mock aloofness and haughtily replied, “Well, _average_ doesn’t get you hired, Even,” which earned a snort of laughter from the other boy.

“That’s the spirit, Isak!” Vilde praised him, unironically.

The door then opened to reveal a rather disgruntled looking Eva, who dropped her beside Isak and plopped down with a harsh exhalation of breath.

“Ugh, that girl Ingrid cornered me in the bathroom and started interrogating me about summer intensives I’ve gone to!” Eva complained irritably. “I barely escaped with my life.”

Vilde wrinkled her nose at the mention of Ingrid and said, “Yeah, ever since she started going to the Bolshoi over the summer she’s been insufferable. She thinks she’s the best, especially now that Noora’s gone, and wants everyone to know it.”

“Those darned Russians got to her head,” Even added in a conspiratorial whisper, wiggling his eyebrows and earning a snigger from Isak.

Vilde ignored him and continued, “What did you do this summer, Eva, if you don’t mind my asking?” Eva explained how she’d studied with the Finnish National Ballet for a month, and Vilde responded with enthusiasm, saying she had gone there in the past as well but now stayed here in the summers with the hope of getting a company contract. “And you, Isak? Where did you go?” she asked politely, turning her pale blue gaze to him.

“Um, I stayed in Bergen?” he replied uncomfortably. He’d had a great summer playing video games, going to parties, and hanging out with Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi. Not everyone went to prestigious dance schools over the summer, right?

“Oh, does Bergen have a good intensive?” Vilde asked quizzically.

“No, I don’t think so. Or maybe, but I didn’t go,” Isak said. “What, is that weird?” he asked awkwardly, Vilde’s stunned look making him uncomfortable. “Does everyone here go to summer intensives? You too?” He directed his question at Even, who nodded slowly.

“Got back from the Paris Opera last month” Even clarified, because _of course_ he’d gotten into one of the best ballet schools in all of Europe.

Isak groaned in despair. “No wonder I suck,” he lamented. Even opened his mouth as if to argue, but Miss. Wahlberg chose that moment to enter the room and begin class, so Isak was left with his dejected thoughts. He would really have to step up his game next summer.

The conditioning class was a mixture of strength exercises, stretches, and core work that limbered up Isak’s stiff muscles and left him feeling prepared for ballet class, which was next. When they moved to the main studio and began barre with Ms. Kravchenko, however, Isak quickly discovered that his fatigued body refused to obey his commands, and the class went even worse than the previous day. Even, clearly still unaware or uncaring of the concept of personal space, chose to stand in front of him at barre again, and Isak really wished he wouldn’t. He didn’t want the other boy to see his quivering legs in _adagio_ and his sloppy, tired footwork.

In center, he struggled to stay on balance, forgot multiple combinations, and even staggered out of his pirouettes, which were usually his strength. When the class was finally over and everyone lined up to bow and curtsy to Ms. Kravchenko, he bowed briskly while avoiding meeting her eyes and tried to leave as fast as possible out of shame.

“Isak,” the Ukrainian woman stopped him, pulling him aside as the other students continued moving up the line to thank her. He braced himself for harsh reprimands, but she only told him, “Try not to get too much into your head. We all have bad days, but you can’t let the audience know you’re struggling—learn to distance yourself.”

Isak nodded in surprise—it was good advice, and certainly not the criticism he had expected—and went to his bag to chug some water before the next class. Feeling a bit better about himself, Isak started to ask Even about how the variations class would be run, when he noticed the tall boy’s tense posture. His back was ramrod straight, and he was staring at the instructor who had just walked in with an unreadable expression.

Isak followed his gaze and observed the teacher, who had tan skin, wavy dark brown hair, and barely looked older than Isak himself. The teacher then gathered the boys in a circle (the girls had their own variation class) and introduced himself as Mikael; he was a current company member with the National Ballet, which explained his relative youthfulness. Isak cast a glance at Even, who had crossed his arms and was still staring at Mikael intently. Isak was no expert on body language, but he could tell the two had some kind of history.

Mikael ignored Even’s gaze, though, and began explaining what was to come. “As you may know, the school will be participating in the Prix de Chalons this year, as it often has in the past.” Isak’s eyebrows shot up in surprise—the Prix was a prestigious classical ballet competition in France that offered scholarships to winners and company contracts for the best of the winners. “Therefore, the variations you work on in this class will be the ones you perform in the Prix, and I’m confident some of you will make it to the finals.” Mikael briefly made eye contact with Even at that point, before quickly looking away.

“I’ll let each of you choose your own variation, and we can start working on them individually next week,” he continued. “For now, we’ll work on tricks and performance skills.” The rest of the class was spent working on _tours_ and turns _a la seconde_ , since most male ballet variations included those skills, but Isak had trouble staying focused. He couldn’t believe he would be competing in the Prix de Chalons—he’d watched Youtube videos of it throughout his childhood but never imagined he would actually be participating. And he had absolutely no idea what variation he could choose that wouldn’t emphasize the many flaws in his dancing.

When class ended and Isak was back in the locker room, the other boys in his class were boisterously discussing the different variations they would choose.

“I don’t know about Bayadère,” Yousef was saying skeptically to Elias. “It seems so unoriginal for anyone who isn’t white, since it’s set in India and everything.”

“India? I thought it was somewhere in the Middle East,” Elias replied.

“There’s a snake charmer and an opium smoking scene—definitely India,” said Yousef. Isak hadn’t been aware of the details of the ballet, but he imagined Yousef’s consistent turns and clean, fluid technique would be perfect for the solo.

“Dude, I am totally doing Flames of Paris,” Chris boasted to his friend Erik. From what he’d seen of Chris’s powerful dancing, Isak agreed that the vigorous variation was a perfect fit.

As for himself, Isak still had no idea. He didn’t have Yousef’s technique, or Chris’s athleticism, and definitely didn’t have Even’s graceful perfection. When he thought about it, Isak was just mediocre in every way. Even sat down on the bench next to him to pull off his ballet shoes, and Isak asked him what he was planning on choosing.

Isak’s question seemed to jolt the other boy out of thought, and he furrowed his brow in contemplation. “I haven’t got a clue,” he said thoughtfully. “I did Swan Lake last year, but I don’t think the judges liked it very much. Said I lacked emotion, or something like that, which was probably true.”

Isak was shocked—he couldn’t imagine Even ever dancing without emotion. Even was the most expressive male dancer in their class, by far.

“And you? Any ideas?” Even asked, pulling on his sweatpants.

Isak shook his head helplessly. “None at all—I didn’t realize coming here would mean I’d be competing in the Prix, so I don’t even know where to begin.”

Even nodded in understanding. “Well, we can talk to Vilde later if you want. She usually has strong opinions about what variations are acceptable.” He smiled fondly at the thought of her.

“Ok, yeah, that’d probably be helpful,” Isak agreed, before become overrun with curiosity and asking, “Are you and Vilde, you know…” He made vague hand gestures in the air to indicate Even and Vilde being together romantically.

“What, are we dating?” Even finished for him, a wide grin spreading across his face. “No, no, we’re just very good friends. And pas partners, of course.” He let out a mirthful chuckle. “Did you really think we were dating?” he asked, blue eyes all crinkled up.

“Oh no, I was just wondering. Your pas de deux is very convincing, that’s all,” Isak said vaguely. He was suddenly in a very good mood. _Must be the endorphins. “_ Anyways, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, he shouldered his bag and walked out of the locker room with energy he certainly hadn’t possessed when he came in.

As he strode out, he almost missed Even’s quiet reply, uttered softly as if he was contemplating something deeply, and lingering on Isak’s name as if savoring every syllable:

“Bye, Isak.”

***

Later that night, Isak scrolled through Facebook on his bed and tried to ignore the significant pain Vilde’s foot stretcher was inflicting on his ankle. The device kept his arch strapped painfully to its wooden contour, and Isak imagined the contraption would fit in quite nicely in a medieval torture chamber. On his news feed, Jonas had posted a picture of him, Magnus, and Mahdi crouched on the stairs of Bergen Secondary School, two of them deadpanning the camera while Magnus posed behind them dramatically with an expression of glee. Isak automatically smiled and liked the photo, but at the same time the reminder of his friends made a pang of melancholy surge up in his chest. He clicked out of the Facebook tab and stared into space for a while.

Struck with sudden curiosity and a desire to distract himself from the discomfort in his foot, Isak navigated to his laptop’s search bar and typed, “ _Even Bech Næsheim ballet.”_ Three videos popped up, and Isak clicked on the first one—it was Even’s Swan Lake solo from last year’s Prix de Chalons.

Isak peered at the screen intently as the music began and Even began the first double _cabrioles_ across the stage. Although he was more gangly and unrefined back then, the dance was still technically perfect; his jumps were high and buoyant in the air, and his _port de bras_ was refined and graceful despite the difficulty of the steps he was performing.

As Even continued to the double _tour_ sequence in the middle though, Isak could see the odd lack of emotion in his dancing he had mentioned in the locker room that day. Although his mouth was upturned in a pleasant smile and he danced with elegant musicality, there was no passion behind his movements—the sense of barely concealed elation Isak had come to associate with his dancing was lacking. Even finished on one knee with his arms spread triumphantly towards the applauding audience, but Isak was unnerved by the coldness of the dance. He then clicked on the next video—the pas from _Diana and Acteon_ that had earned him and Vilde first place.

To his dismay, Isak found that, underneath the plastered on smile, Even didn’t look any happier in this video than he had in his solo. Vilde danced with energy and joy, and their partnerwork was flawless, but Even didn’t have any of the mirth or careless exuberance the lighthearted music and whimsical Greek costumes called for. Isak watched the whole video and noted with awe both Even and Vilde’s immense talent and precise movements, but he still felt frustrated by Even’s lack of emotion. What could possibly have happened to make him dance like an impassive robot?

Isak clicked on the final video, which was a shaky recording on someone’s phone of a contemporary duet. He guessed it was taken at the Paris Opera Ballet intensive, since it dated back to this past summer. When Even began slowly walking towards his partner with a dark smolder, wearing nothing but a pair of tight spandex shorts, Isak felt his heart skip a beat. Whatever emotional barrier had been holding Even back last year was certainly not restraining him now; he and the blond girl he was dancing with engaged in a thrilling, almost carnal play of power and emotions, their sharp, desirous movements accentuated by the heavy chords of the music. Isak’s throat felt hot and dry, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen.

Even spread his hands around the blond girl’s slim waist and lifted her easily over his shoulder. The girl was hardly wearing more clothes than Even, her agile body clad only in spandex and a sports bra. They mirrored each other’s dark, dangerous expressions as they slid through the fluid, almost animalistic steps, and Isak couldn’t help but feel a bite of jealousy. Both of them were just _so good._

The dance ended with Even braced over the girl on the ground, his chest heaving and a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his bare back. When the last echoes of the music faded out, Even helped the girl to her feet and they hugged each other in front of the cheering observers before the recorder abruptly ended the video. Isak couldn’t do anything more than stare at the black screen of his laptop for a few moments, before realizing that his foot had fallen asleep in the foot stretcher.

Isak gingerly removed his aching foot from the device and fell back on his bed with a heavy sigh. Images of Even’s long, bare legs and muscled torso moving fluidly with the girl still coursed through his mind, and Isak felt his face flush, hot and unbidden.

It was perfectly natural to be slightly aroused by two young, strong bodies moving together...right?

Isak groaned and tried not to think of the implications of his growing infatuation with Even. A crush would only complicate his already complicated life and come between their budding friendship.

Besides, Isak wasn’t even gay...or at least, he didn’t think he was. Even was certainly objectively handsome though, and his body’s reaction to watching the other boy dance would seem to indicate that he was attracted to Even at least, if not males in general.

But Isak also realized pursuing Even would be a hopeless task, since he doubted Even liked him in return, and he wouldn’t have the faintest idea of how to go around pursuing him even if he did. So Isak tried to put Even’s image out of his mind and rest for the upcoming day, but he couldn’t slow his racing mind.

Hours later, when Isak had mentally gone through the Russian dance of _The_ _Nutcracker_ ten times in an ineffective attempt to stop thinking confusing thoughts about Even, sheer exhaustion finally took over and Isak fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is complete! Here are a few notes:  
> 1) The Prix de Chalons is fictional, but based off of the Prix de Lausanne in Switzerland and the Youth America Grand Prix  
> 2) If you're interested, here is the [Swan Lake Variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWIk4-3Nkiw) Even did  
> 3) And this is the [Diana & Acteon pas de deux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVYJUHRmB8A)  
> 4) Also, here is a [foot stretcher](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1062/8502/files/ballet-footstretch-original-block2_345x.jpg?v=1517028007). I do not recommend, if you value your well-being and ability to walk.


	3. Valse et Jalousie

Two days later, Isak sat in a sunlit coffee shop with Even, Vilde, Eva, and the pianist, Sana, who turned out to be a close friend of Even and Vilde’s. The previous day had been the worst for Isak, as his already exhausted body had been operating on very little sleep—he’d barely been able to hold his arms out in second position at barre. Luckily, he felt a bit more rested today, if still rather sore, and was eager to dance again in a few hours. Right now though, he and what seemed to be becoming his new friend group enjoyed a rare moment of free time together. Sana and Eva were currently engaged in a heated discussion about the pros and cons of dance; Isak found the pianist’s total lack of enthusiasm for ballet to be refreshing.

“It promotes unhealthy body standards and is the most exclusive of the art forms,” Sana said briskly when Eva asked what she didn’t like about ballet. “And, it’s stuck in the past and is borderline racist.” Nobody could really argue with that; while the rest of the world was becoming more progressive each day, ballet was still in the white, wealthy bubble it had subsisted in since the fifteenth century.

“Well, why do you work as a ballet accompanist if you hate it so much, then?” Eva pressed.

“Because I like piano and I like money,” Sana said simply. In addition to the girl’s blunt candor, which provided a welcome escape from the constant barrage of ballet and bunheads he’d been assaulted with for the past week, Isak also liked her due to their shared interest in biology.

“Really, that’s it?” Even interrupted from where he was casually leaned back in his chair, sipping coffee. “Sure it doesn’t have anything to do with, say...Yousef?” His blue eyes were twinkling mirthfully in the sun, and Isak had trouble looking away.

Sana lifted her chin and contemptuously replied, “I’ll have you know I was playing piano for the school long before Yousef even came along. I don’t know what you’re implying at all.”

But she clearly did know what he was implying, as a smile crept over her face at Even’s knowing look. With a brisk adjustment of her hijab, she gathered her bag and stood up to leave.

“Anyways, I have to go now—some of us mortals have regular school to attend. It was nice meeting you officially, Eva, Isak.” She left in a flurry of chic black layers, and the dancers were left to themselves.

“Wait, are Sana and Yousef dating?” Eva asked curiously.

Vilde and Even shared a look before Even shrugged and said, “It’s complicated, I think.”

“They certainly should be dating, though!” Vilde added emphatically. “But I suppose it’s none of my business. Anyways, have you guys thought about your variations for the prix? I know what I’m doing—Black Swan,” she said dreamily.

Isak choked on his coffee at the thought of Vilde embodying the evil, seductive temptress in the notoriously difficult solo from _Swan Lake._ “Are you sure you have the right, I don’t know...personality for that dance?” Isak wheezed when he had recovered from his temporary asphyxiation. Vilde looked personally affronted by his skepticism.

“I can be evil if I want to!” Vilde protested with a pout, delicately sipping her flowery tea and looking decidedly not evil. “The company wants versatile dancers, so this will prove to them I can take on a wide variety of character roles. Plus, it’s one of the most difficult solos out there.”

“I think you’ll make a wonderful Black Swan,” Eva assured her, patting her arm kindly and shooting a warning glare at Isak. “Personally, I’m looking for the easiest variation I can find. Something where I won’t fall flat on my face in the first two seconds, preferably.”

“If you’re trying to avoid falling on your face, you might be in the wrong profession,” Isak said wryly.

“True,” Eva laughed, before groaning. “I should just accept my inevitable humiliation.”

“What about Gamzatti?” Vilde interjected. “It’s not easy, but it’s fun and would show off your natural jump.”

Eva nodded thoughtfully at the suggestion. “That’s actually a pretty good idea. It’s not too long either, which is always a plus.” Isak agreed that the exuberant, lighthearted solo would suit Eva.

“How about you, Even?” Vilde asked. “Are you still planning on doing Des Grieux, from _Manon_?”

The twinkle in Even’s blue eyes dimmed, and he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What is that?” Isak asked. He’d heard of the ballet _Manon_ , but only in passing.

“It’s a tragic love story between the wealthy socialite Manon and the student Des Grieux. Their love is forbidden, and Manon dies at the end. It’s quite romantic,” Vilde explained. “Are you sure you don’t want to?” she asked Even. “You couldn’t stop talking about it last year—I thought you loved the tragedy of it.”

Even’s expression was closed-off and distant. Isak suddenly wanted to make the other boy smile; anything to bring the twinkle back to his cold blue eyes.

“I think I’ve had enough of that,” Even said softly, his low voice barely audible. But then he seemed to shake off whatever he’d been thinking of, and quickly changed the subject. “Maybe I’ll do _La Sylphide_ this year. I always have wanted to wear a kilt,” he grinned.

Isak had to take a few large gulps of coffee in a vain attempt to stop the rather lurid thoughts about Even in a kilt that suddenly coursed through his mind.

Eva gave him a funny look as he drained his coffee cup and asked, “Isak, have you thought of anything?”

“No, I was hoping you guys would have some ideas,” he said, grateful for the change of topic.

“Hm,” Vilde began, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “We should find you something that shows off your turning ability. Something exciting, and fast, probably—”

“ _Don Quixote,”_ Even interrupted suddenly. He was fixing Isak with an intense stare that made his chest feel tight. “Basilio’s variation—it’s perfect.”

“What? No!” Isak protested, thinking of the flashy tricks and Spanish bravado the dance would require.

“Why not?” Even asked simply.

“I—it’s too difficult!” Isak spluttered. “I should go for something simple, maybe _La Fille mal Gardeé…”_

“You want to prance around wearing a floral vest?” Even asked, his eyes playful but with a definite hint of challenge in them. “I didn’t think so. Do _Don Quixote.”_ It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order. Isak opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out.

“...Ok,” he finally managed, feeling flustered and exposed under the other boy’s intense gaze. “Fuck it, I’ll fail in the prix anyways. Might as well go out with some Spanish flair.”

Eva let out a cheer, and Even nodded approvingly. Then it was time to go to ballet, so they all stood up and gathered their belongings.

As they were headed out the door, Even placed a hand on Isak’s shoulder and said, “So, we have pas again today. Did you still want help?”

Isak nodded, hopefully not too enthusiastically. “Yeah, that’d be great. Will the studio stay open after class?”

“Yes, it should be,” said Even. “If Emma’s open to staying late, I can teach you everything important.” His hand was still on Isak’s shoulder as they walked towards the school.

“Perfect...thanks.” Isak felt his heart racing in his chest, and he willed himself to calm down. _Get a grip on yourself, Valtersen._

For the first time that week, Isak felt that ballet class actually went well. An athletic British woman called Maria instructed them, and Isak found that her contemporary style suited his body better than Ms. Kravchenko’s swift, classical steps. She had them focus on musicality throughout the whole class, at one point making them stop dancing to listen to Sana’s expressive playing so that they could embody the music. Isak had always considered musicality to be the most important skill a dancer could have, so he took Maria’s advice in stride and went for each combination full out.

When they started _petite allegro,_ a rapid sequence of small jumps that usually had Isak stumbling over his own feet, he simply focused on the rhythm of his body in time with the music, and found that the steps came naturally that way. After repeating the combination four times, Isak leaned on the barre on the back wall and panted, feeling winded but surprisingly good about himself.

“Beautiful,” came a low voice right from right next to him. Isak jumped to see Even leaning on the barre beside him, taking a long draught from his water bottle and looking straight forward as if he hadn’t said anything. Isak was saved from having to reply by Maria moving on to teach them the next combination.

As good as the ballet class was, the pas de deux class they had afterwards was just as bad as the first day had been. Oscar, the bald, muscled instructor, began class by summoning Ingrid up to the front of the room and having her demonstrate a _tor jete_ into a fish dive. Essentially, that consisted of the girl jumping and performing a rotation in the air, with the male partner catching her sideways with one arm around her torso and the other around her thigh. Ingrid performed a flawless jump and Oscar caught her effortlessly, his burly arms barely straining. Then he told the class to try it, and Isak spiralled into a panic.

Isak could barely manage to balance Emma in a simple _arabesque_ , much less catch her out of a complicated jump into a fish dive. Hell, he could barely even catch a frisbee if someone threw it straight at him—it was one of the reasons he’d chosen ballet over team sports involving hand-eye coordination. Emma assured him it would be fine, but over the course of the class he proved her wrong.

In their first attempt, Isak totally miscalculated her jump and they nearly crashed to the floor together. They took it slower the next time, but Isak quickly realized it was nearly impossible to actually perform the sequence at a slow pace without the momentum of Emma’s jump. He stole a glance across the room to see Even smoothly catch Vilde from her graceful flip, spinning her around in his arms afterwards just because he could.

After many bungled attempts and countless apologies, Isak finally managed to catch Emma, but he had misjudged her placement and ended up with his arm wrapped awkwardly around her crotch in a most undignified position.

“Shit, sorry!” he stammered, quickly placing her back on her feet. But Emma just looked up at him and giggled, her cheeks tinged pink.

“It’s ok,” she reassured him. “You almost got it this time!” Isak didn’t know why she was being so nice to him—if he were in her place he would have demanded a different partner.

The class then moved on to learn a few measures of choreography, and Isak had pretty much given up by that point. He and Emma remained in the back, halfheartedly going through the motions of the steps so as to avoid further blunder and potential injury. When the class was finally over, Isak was tired, humiliated, and felt like a total failure. He leaned against the barre on the wall and took a few sorrowful gulps of water.

When everyone was taking off their ballet shoes, Even caught his eye from across the room and began walking over. He was wearing white elastic suspenders over his white T shirt to pull up his leggings, making his long legs look even longer.

“You ready?” the tall boy asked.

“God, yes,” Isak groaned. “Please teach me something. _Anything.”_

“I promise you it’s not as hard as you think,” said Even with a hint of a smile. Then he turned to Emma and asked. “Hey Emma—do you want to stay a little longer so I can show Isak the basics of pas de deux?”

The brunette responded cheerfully that she would be happy to. Once everyone had cleared out of the room, Even had Emma stand upright in her pointe shoes in _sous-sus_ , and showed Isak how to grasp her waist properly.

“The key to partnering is finding the girl’s center of balance,” instructed Even. His low voice echoed soothingly in the large, empty studio. Isak was mesmerized by the sound. “Emma, stay in that position, and Isak, now try shifting her from side to side, front and back.” Isak did as he was told and found it was surprisingly easy—Emma wasn’t terribly heavy, after all.

“Good,” said Even. “Don’t be afraid to get close to her; it’ll make things easier.” Even then demonstrated how to properly assist a pirouette—it turned out there was a specific coordination of the hands required to simultaneously spin the girl and keep her balanced. With Even partnering her, Emma did multiple perfect turns, and Isak could now see what he’d been doing wrong. It took Isak a few tries, but eventually he successfully assisted Emma in a triple pirouette. Even was right; once he knew the proper hand positions down, it really wasn’t too difficult.

Isak still struggled with balancing Emma in an _arabesque_ , though. The pose consisted of Emma standing on one leg on pointe, with her other leg extended directly behind her in the air.

“More left—no, more right now—feel where her weight is,” Even was trying to instruct him. Isak gritted his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t seem to figure out where to put his hands around Emma’s waist to correctly balance her on the tiny platform of her pointe shoe. Eventually he gave up and simply wrapped his arms around Emma’s torso, forcing her out of the _arabesque_ but effectively keeping her balanced. Emma giggled, and Even laughed out loud, the sound resonating through the studio.

“I suppose that is a solution,” he chuckled. “Maybe not the one Oscar is looking for, though. Here, Isak, you do an _arabesque_ and I’ll show you what it’s like.” He walked over to stand beside him, and Isak was frozen in surprise.

“Um, what?” he asked, uncertain of whether he had heard him correctly. Even just smirked and gestured for Isak to proceed.

“Do an _arabesque_. It’ll help, I promise.”

So Isak did as he was told, and suddenly Even’s hands were on his waist, steadying and firm. Isak felt his heart jump and his face flush from his close proximity with the tall dancer. Even’s hands were warm, and Isak could smell the heady scent of sweat and deodorant emanating from his body.

“This is what you’ve been doing,” Even said, shifting Isak forward so that he was off balance and struggling to remain in the position. Even’s voice was quiet and low, centimeters from his ear, and Isak barely suppressed a shiver. “What you want to do is...this,” he continued, adjusting his grip and centering Isak back onto the ball of his foot. “It’s a bit harder when your partner is on pointe of course, but the principle is the same. You got it?”

Isak came out of _arabesque_ and stretched his back, replying, “Yeah.” The word came out scratchy, and Isak cleared his throat in embarrassment. Even stepped back and motioned for Emma to return, and Isak felt a wave of disappointment at the sudden loss of his presence.

But Isak found that Even’s unorthodox method of instruction had worked; with an adjustment of his grip, he was able to keep Emma centered on her leg without any difficulty. Even then walked him through how to properly lift Emma in jumps, before declaring Isak to be proficient in all the necessary skills of pas.

“You’ve learned everything I have to offer, my young padawan,” Even told him with a smile.

Isak snorted. “Thank you, Yoda. It’ll still be ages before I’ll be able to do any of this well, though.”

“You might surprise yourself,” Even said mysteriously. Then the three of them walked back to the corner of the room to pack up and leave.

Isak could sense Emma casting glances at him as she untied her pointe shoes. When he met her eyes, she said, “So...that was a lot better!” Isak nodded in agreement.

“I didn’t drop you on your face, so I’m considering it a success,” he said, only half-joking. Emma laughed, the action lighting up her pretty, delicate features.

“I know you wouldn’t drop me,” she said, with more faith in Isak than he had in himself. “Anyways, I was meaning to ask you; some of the level eight girls are throwing a party tomorrow night, and I was wondering if you want to come. Even, you’re invited too, of course,” she added, swiveling to address the other boy.

“I was already planning on it, actually,” said Even as he stuffed his black ballet shoes into his bag. He met Isak’s eyes, and Isak looked away quickly.

“Ok, cool! So Isak, do you want to?” She bit her lip and looked at him coyly, and Isak realized she didn’t intend on inviting him just as a friend.

“Oh, sure,” he said casually, not showing his internal panic. “Yeah, sounds chill.” Emma was kind, beautiful, and seemed to like Isak more than his awkwardness and botched partnering skills warranted. Isak liked her in return, so it seemed only natural that they become something more than friends. But Isak couldn’t help but feel that he was letting Even down by accepting her advances, which was stupid as there was no way that the tall dancer was interested in him, or that he even swung that way in general.

“Perfect, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Emma said with a playful glint in her eyes. When she finished packing her bag and stood up to leave, Isak looked around for Even only to see that he was already gone; Isak was left alone in the studio.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and ran his hands through his sweaty hair, feeling confused and conflicted. The prospect of a night with Emma should make him happy; he had gone to countless parties that summer, where he’d hung out with his friends, smoked weed, hooked up with girls, and had an overall excellent time. Why was this time any different, and why did he feel so guilty?

Isak groaned and pulled his sweatpants on over his tights, not bothering to go to the locker room to change properly today. His thoughts were confusing, so he did his best not to think. What he needed was a generous dinner and some time to look up the _Don Quixote_ variation he would most likely be doing. He had to stay focused on ballet, after all.

So Isak stood up stiffly, his knees popping as he did so, and left the studio. Walking to the bus stop, he took a moment to look around at the grand stone buildings of the Norwegian National Ballet. He still had trouble believing he was really there, sometimes. It had been a tumultuous first week, but he had survived, and that was something to be proud of.

Isak saw that the bus had pulled up to the stop, so he sprinted along the sidewalk to catch it. He made it on just as the door was about to close. After paying, he leaned against one of the poles, as all the seats were taken, and took out his phone, panting slightly.

“Halla,” came a sudden familiar voice from right next to him. Isak jerked his head up in surprise. “Fancy meeting you here,” said Even, his eyes crinkling with a bright smile.

“Hi,” Isak said breathlessly. “You, uh, so you take this bus too,” he said, cringing internally at the words that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Yes,” Even said simply, still smiling down at Isak. In the cramped bus interior, he seemed especially tall—it wasn’t fair.

The silence stretched on, and Isak fiddled with his phone nervously, at a loss for what to say. He felt the urge to explain to Even that he wasn’t actually interested in Emma, despite having agreed to go to the party with her, but it seemed weird to bring up. Even was still staring at him, and Isak was sweating under the heat of his gaze.

“Great conversation,” said Even, breaking the long silence with an easy grin.

“Ha—yeah.” Isak searched desperately for a conversation topic. “So, uh, what are you doing tonight?” he asked.

“I thought I’d look up some variations for the prix and gather inspiration. I need to actually do well in the competition this year if I want to get hired,” he said with a sigh. “You?”

“Same—well, I guess I’m doing _Don Quixote_ , but I was gonna look up videos,” Isak said.

“We can do it together!” Even enthused, his face breaking out into a gleaming smile once again. “I get off in two stops—join me?”

Isak gaped at Even’s forwardness, and then blushed at the thought of going to Even’s home; it was a barrier he hadn’t expected to cross, and it certainly wouldn’t be conducive to his efforts to stop his quickly-developing crush. But Isak had never been very good at saying no.

“Ok,” he said quietly, tentatively returning Even’s smile.

And that was how, an hour later, they ended up skidding around on their socks in Even’s kitchen with _The Nutcracker_ music blasting full volume, dancing the snow pas de deux while holding cheese toasties flavored with a disgusting amount of spices in their hands.

“ _And pique, and pique, and pas de chat sous-sus!”_ Isak commanded powerfully, clapping his hands like a stern ballet master and scattering rosemary, chili, and God knows what else all over the kitchen floor. Even turned and leapt dramatically with the powerful swells of the orchestra resonating from his laptop, and Isak laughed as his flailing arm sent a pot clattering to the ground.

“Oh shit,” Even laughed, setting down his toast and returning the pot to its proper place.

“This is why I never listen to _Nutcracker_ music when it’s not winter,” Isak groaned, pressing his grinning face into his hands. “Only bad things can happen.”

“What?” Even asked incredulously. “ _Nutcracker_ is for every season!”

“I fundamentally disagree with you on that,” Isak asserted. Even chuckled and came over to lean on the counter beside him. He took a bite of the toast, and Isak did the same. They chewed thoughtfully for a few moments.

“This is disgusting, isn’t it,” Even said with a wrinkled nose.

“Yeah, fuck this.”

They ended up eating leftover pizza instead, sitting on the sofa and attempting to focus on finding inspiration for their variations. Realizing their efforts were fruitless, however, they soon moved to smoke a joint on the windowsill, staring out into the city below them as the sun slowly set. Isak snuck a glance at Even’s pale face, mesmerized by the swirling patterns the smoke made around his fine features. His blue eyes reflected the orange glow of the sunset, and Isak found it difficult to tear his gaze away.

“Have you always wanted to be a dancer?” Isak asked. Even considered this for a moment and passed Isak the joint, which he accepted.

“A few years ago I would’ve said yes. I had my doubts last year, though.”

“Why?” Isak asked curiously, blowing smoke into the cool air outside. Isak knew why he himself had doubts about his artistic future, but Even was one of the best dancers he knew.

Even looked pensively into the city lights and said, “It was a hard year.” It was clear he wasn’t willing to elaborate further, so Isak didn’t push the question, despite his curiosity. “I don’t know what I’d be if I wasn’t a dancer,” Even continued after a while. “I’ve been in the school since I was eight, so it’s really all I know. Maybe a film director or something—I’ve always liked movies.”

Isak nodded in understanding. “I wanted to be a biologist,” he said. “I almost didn’t come here when I got in because I wouldn’t be able to continue with biology, but I guess the ballet side of me won.” He took another drag of the joint and sighed.

“Ballet is a cruel mistress,” Even said solemnly.

“Tell me about it,” Isak snorted, before pulling his leg up to rub it with a groan. “I don’t think my calves will ever be the same again after a week of Kravchenko’s class.”

“Here, give me your leg,” Even said briskly in response to Isak’s complaint. When Isak failed to comply, Even simply grabbed his ankle and began digging the palm of his hand into Isak’s calf muscles.

“Ow, what the fuck!” Isak protested, trying and failing to yank his leg away from Even’s iron grip.

“It’s good pain, trust me,” Even assured him as he continued assaulting Isak’s calf with his bony fingers.

“Ow, ow, _ow,”_ Isak whined, puffing on the joint like an addict in an attempt to distract himself from the pain. But eventually his calf began to loosen up, and Even’s touch no longer felt quite so excruciating. “Ok, I guess that’s not too bad,” he admitted after a few minutes.

“See? Told you,” Even smirked, sliding the heel of his hand from the bulk of Isak’s calf to his ankle. Now that the pain had subsided somewhat, Isak was uncomfortably aware of Even’s firm, almost intimate touch on his leg, which was practically resting on his lap. Isak inhaled sharply when Even moved his hand to cup his calf where it met his knee, which made Even look up to meet his gaze.

Without breaking eye contact, Even brought his other hand to grasp his calf at his knee joint and kneaded the muscle slowly, almost like a caress. Isak barely managed to bite back a sigh of pleasure ( _God, what was happening to him?)_ and instead gave a nervous laugh, still transfixed by Even’s intense gaze. Even’s warm hands were still on his calf, and he wouldn’t stop staring at him with those deep blue eyes, and Isak was overwhelmed and flustered but he couldn’t look away. Even’s features flickered with sudden emotion, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could form the words the noise of keys in a lock came from the apartment’s entrance and the door swung open.

Even released Isak’s leg and got up to greet the newcomer as if nothing had happened—as if Isak hadn’t been reduced to a hot, panting mess from a simple calf massage. Isak let his head bang against the wall behind him and tried to get a hold of himself.

“Isak,” Even called out. Isak looked up to see him with a tall, slim girl with short blond hair. “This is Sonja.”

With a jolt, Isak recognizes her as the girl in the video at the Paris Opera that summer. The girl with whom Even has engaged in an intense and seductive contemporary pas de deux, and who he was now apparently sharing an apartment with.  

“Hi Sonja,” Isak said politely while mentally hitting himself for his stupidity. Of course the two of them were dating; both were tall, gorgeous, and far better dancers than Isak himself.

“Are you a student at the National Ballet too?” he asked. He didn’t remember seeing her around the school that week.

“I was, but I’m in the company now,” she explained. The air in the room was stifling, and suddenly Isak wanted to get out as fast as possible.

“Cool. I should be going now,” he told Even abruptly.

“What? You can stay if you want—“

“No, no, I really need to get back,” Isak interrupted, blindly grabbing his belongings and avoiding looking at Even, since he knew he’d be helpless as he was trapped again by those blue eyes.

“Bye, see you later,” he said quickly. He was out the door before he could hear the response.

Only when he was outside in the cool air of the street did he allow himself to stop and breathe. Images of Even and Sonja dancing together with skin-tight clothing and fiery eyes kept flashing through his mind, and he couldn’t help but feel painfully jealous. He looked up at the dark sky and let out a harsh, ironic laugh. It was just his luck; he, Isak Valtersen, had become deeply infatuated with the single most unattainable boy in all of Oslo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! I love getting all your kudos and comments, it brightens my day.  
> This chapter was pretty fun to write, so I hope you enjoy despite the mild drama at the end :)
> 
> Since it seems like some of you may appreciate it, here is a list of links to the variations and moves I mentioned in the chapter in more or less chronological order—let me know if this is helpful or not.  
> 1) Vilde's [Black Swan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDir5_vrb4I) variation from Swan Lake  
> 2) Eva's [Gamzatti](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02LF3T9pJm4) variation, from La Bayadere  
> 3) [Des Grieux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qpk6q77iefA) variation, from Manon  
> 4) [La Sylphide](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBumXEp1XLU) variation  
> 5) [Don Quixote](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lL9OtJU-Y9w&t=9s) variation  
> (my favorite version)  
> 6) [La Fille Mal Gardee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTQu1ZxQWtA) variation  
> 7) [petite allegro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvrPLx3z7bY) (this is just an example—there are many ways to do it)  
> 8) some basics of [pas de deux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wnqzS25CzA)  
> 9) and lastly, the [Waltz of the Snowflakes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYaIQNjAX_8) from the Nutcracker


	4. Gavotte

Isak spent Saturday morning lying in his bed, giving his body a much needed break from dancing. He wouldn’t always be allowed this luxury, as future Saturdays would be spent rehearsing for the Prix and the showcase the students would perform in a few months. But since it was still the first week, rehearsals hadn’t started yet, so Isak took advantage of the blissful experience of doing absolutely nothing.

Blissful was perhaps an exaggeration; while Isak’s body relaxed, his mind couldn’t stop reliving the events of last night. Isak tried to tell himself that it was none of his business that Even and Sonja were dating, but he couldn’t stop dwelling on it. He had rewatched the video of them dancing together multiple times already, which only left him feeling grumpy and irritable.

Sometime within the past week, Isak had come to terms with the fact that he had a bit of a crush on Even (Ok, he was strongly attracted to and borderline obsessed with him, if he was going to be honest here). But unfortunately that raised uncomfortable questions about Isak’s sexual identity that he wasn’t quite ready to answer. Sure, he liked Even—the dancer was objectively the most likeable person Isak had ever met, so no surprises there. But that didn’t necessarily make Isak gay, right?

Isak exhaled heavily and stared at the ceiling of his room. Growing up as one of three boys in his entire ballet studio, he had always prided himself on not being what people expected of a male dancer. He liked video games, sports, and smoking weed with his friends—in other words, he was a typical teenage boy who just happened to enjoy _pirouetting_ to classical music. Being straight had been part of that identity, and aside from a brief crush on Jonas that he’d written off as confused post-puberty hormones, Isak had never had any reason to question it.

But in the short span of a week, Even Bech Næsheim seemed to have uprooted everything Isak thought he knew about himself, with a few crinkly, blue-eyed smiles and unapologetic invasions of Isak’s personal space. Isak almost typed Even’s name into his laptop’s search bar for the upteenth time that day, but he managed to restrain himself. There were only so many times you could Google search someone before it became pathetic, after all.

Isak’s phone buzzed somewhere under the rumpled covers, and for a brief moment he wondered if it was Even (They’d exchanged numbers a few days ago, along with Eva and Vilde). After retrieving it, however, he saw that it was his mom who had texted him. Like all the texts stringing unanswered before it, the message was an unintelligible string of Bible verses, and Isak’s heart sank at the sight of it. Without replying, he tossed his phone back onto the bed and rubbed his face with his hands; he had enough problems of his own without having to deal with his mom’s mental illness. He just had to trust that she was in good hands in the care of his aunt back in Bergen.

Isak jerked upright as his door suddenly banged open and Eskild came traipsing in, making himself at home on Isak’s bed.

“Eskild, what the fuck—” Isak began, but Eskild shushed him and cozied up next to him on the bed, looking intently at his phone screen

“Look at this guy,” he said, showing Isak a picture of a shirtless man. “Is he hot?”

“Huh? I don’t fucking know,” Isak grumbled, averting his gaze uncomfortably.

“Look,” Eskild pressed, holding the phone right under Isak’s face. The man had chiseled abs and a well-groomed hipster beard.

“Sure, he is,” Isak said irritably. The man was handsome enough, although his self-satisfied smolder was a bit of a turn-off.

“Isak, you can tell if a guy is hot without being gay yourself,” Eskild said with a long-suffering sigh.

“I said he is!” Isak protested. “Why are you asking me, anyways?”

Eskild considered this for a moment. “Well, Noora is in London and Linn couldn’t pick out a hot guy from a room full of old grannies, so you’re my next best alternative.” He squinted at the picture once again. “I think we’re gonna meet up.”

“Great. I give you my blessing,” Isak said sarcastically. Then he groaned and lumbered out of his bed for the first time that day. As he stood up, he noticed that one calf muscle was feeling remarkably loose, while the other was still sore and tight. Warmth bloomed in his cheeks as he recalled the long, strong hands that had pressed and kneaded his leg the other night, and he bit down the mixture of amusement and bitterness that arose from the memory.

“Everything alright there, Isak?”

“Yeah...everything’s great.”

 

***

Isak could feel the beat of the bass reverberate in his chest long before he made it to the door of whoever was hosting the party that night. When he got there, he let himself in to find himself surrounded by sweaty bodies dancing to loud, thumping music. Ballet dancers may spend most of their time in sweatpants and ragged athletic wear, but when they partied, they went all out. The girls were in their slinkiest dresses, the guys in their tightest shirts. Isak felt slightly underdressed in his jeans and T shirt.

He caught Emma’s eye from across the room and she weaved between the groups of people to get to him, holding two plastic red cups in her hand. She was wearing patterned pants and a skimpy top.

“Halla,” she said breathlessly when she reached him, offering him one of the beverages. He took it gratefully. “Cool party, yeah?” She had to shout to be heard over the music.

“Yeah,” Isak shouted back. “Are these all level eight kids?” He and Emma seemed to be the only level sevens there.

“Pretty much,” she said. “Plus a few company members. You wanna dance?” She gestured to the mass of gyrating bodies on the dance floor.

“Nah, you’d have to get me more drunk before I do that,” he told her, truthfully. Isak’s talent in ballet had never translated to an affinity towards grinding and popping on the dance floor. Emma laughed and nodded in understanding.

“We can talk over here,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the side of the room. Isak admired the delicate musculature of her shoulders as he followed her to the sofa. They sat side by side and chatted about school and other little things. Emma’s leg was pressed against his, and, realizing he would need a lot more alcohol in his system in order to reciprocate her affection, he got up to fetch more beer. _Why does everything have to be so difficult all of a sudden?_ he wondered. He’d hooked up with plenty of girls at parties back in Bergen, and, in his humble opinion, had more game than all of his friends combined. He should be in his element here, but instead he felt stilted and detached. It was unnerving.

Returning to the sofa, he gave one beer to Emma and took a long swig of his own bottle, before casually putting an arm around Emma’s shoulders. She smiled and scooted closer to him before launching into a rambling commentary of all the company dancers currently in the room, as well as detailed descriptions of their backgrounds and predictions of their futures. Isak nodded and pretended to look interested before two people entering the room caught his eye: Even and Sonja.

Even was wearing a black T shirt and tight jeans that hugged the muscles of his legs. Isak didn’t think he’d seen him in anything other than leggings and sweatpants before, and the sight made his face heat up. Realizing he was ogling, Isak jerked his eyes back to look at Emma and nodded as if he was listening to what she was saying. But he couldn’t help but sneak glances at Even as he and Sonja made their way around the room, greeting people and conversing animatedly.

The two tall blonds went to the center of the room and joined the crowd of dancers there. The song playing was fast and racy, and they danced together like they were born to be partners, both in dance and in their personal lives. Even put his hands on Sonja’s hips and they twisted and undulated to the beat, their bodies mere inches away from each other.  Isak’s chest felt tight with resentment at the way Sonja’s hands wrapped possessively around Even’s back, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. In ballet class, Even was a grand, elegant prince, an expressive presence that drew captivated eyes from around the room. Here he was just as captivating, but where ballet was light and regal, he was dark, mysterious, and painfully seductive.

When Sonja’s back was facing Isak, Even looked up and met Isak’s gaze from across the room. His blue eyes were intense with some emotion as they stared Isak down—was it laughter? A challenge?

Isak didn’t know what it was, but he knew it made him angry and frustrated. So he took one last swig of his beer before turning his body to Emma and interrupting her chatter with a kiss.

Emma immediately responded to his lips on hers, her body going soft and pliant in his arms. Isak angled his mouth into hers and rested his hand on the nape of her birdlike neck. _This is good,_ Isak thought. _This makes sense._ So why wasn’t he enjoying himself?

Isak let his eyes open as he continued making out with Emma and, with a jolt, realized Even was still looking straight at him as he danced with Sonja. His eyes glittered with some unreadable expression, and Isak felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck. Even gyrated his denim-clad hips, low and sensual on the dance floor, and Isak’s lips faltered on Emma’s mouth.

He realized that Emma was looking up at him expectantly, since he’d stopped kissing her, and he blinked to regain his bearings. Giving her his suavest smile, he leaned in to kiss her again, but she stopped him by putting her small hands on his chest with a laugh.

“Do you wanna go somewhere more private?” she asked, biting her lip and looking up at him through dark eyelashes.

Isak smirked and gallantly held out his hand to help her up off the couch. “Your word is my command.” His tone was smooth and cocky, but part of him knew he was just going through the motions. Despite the buzz of alcohol thrumming pleasantly in his head, Isak once again wished he was drunker.

He could practically feel Even’s eyes watching him as he led Emma to the bathroom. It made him feel judged, almost guilty, but he brushed off the feeling. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, after all.

But when the bathroom door closed behind them and Emma surged up to meet his lips, Isak’s panic began to set in. Without the loud music and safety of the crowd surrounding them, Isak suddenly felt exposed and unsure of what to do with his body. He placed his hands around Emma’s upper back, feeling the wire of her bra with detached fascination as they continued to make out in the bathroom.

Kissing Emma wasn’t unpleasant, per se; her mouth was soft and warm and her hair smelled like flowers. But when she moved away from his mouth to begin tracing kisses down his neck, collarbones, and abdomen, it felt _wrong,_ and Isak instinctually took a step backwards.

Emma looked at him quizzically and he covered his mistake by capturing her lips in his own once again, the wet smacking sounds of their mouths echoing faintly in the cold tiled walls. But Emma clearly wasn’t content to continue making out chastly, as she pressed her body against his and surged into his mouth with her tongue. When her hands brushed against his crotch as she reached for his belt buckle, Isak went into full-on panic mode and he pushed her away, slightly too hard.

“What the fuck?” she accused him, confused and affronted.

“Sorry,” Isak said breathlessly. The alcohol was really getting to him now; his head was throbbing and he felt claustrophobic in the dingy bathroom. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s just, ah—” he scrambled for an excuse and pulled out his phone, looking intently at a message that wasn’t there. “Vilde needs me. It’s, um, really urgent. I have to go.”

“Oh, ok,” Emma said, looking bewildered but thankfully not angry. Taking that as a good sign, Isak practically ran out the door, leaving Emma standing alone in the bathroom.

Isak’s head still throbbed as he made his way blindly through the crowds of people in the deafening music. The room was hot and stuffy, and Isak needed fresh air, desperately. In his frantic state, he collided head on with a tall, lean figure in a black T shirt, who caught him by his arms and steadied him. It was Even, because of course it was.

“Isak,” Even said, looking down at him with concern in his eyes. “You alright?” Isak shrugged out of the taller boy’s gentle grip and nodded, trying to collect himself.

“Yeah, I just, uh, I was just leaving,” Isak said casually.

“Ok,” Even said simply, still fixing Isak with that inscrutable stare. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Isak spotted Sonja walking over to join them and he briskly cut him off.

“Yeah, bye,” Isak said brusquely, walking off before he had to acknowledge Sonja. If Even responded, Isak didn’t hear him. He finally made it out the door and was greeted by the quiet, cool night air.

After walking away for about a block, he stopped to rub his hands over his face with a muttered curse. His pounding head had subsided but he still felt overwhelmed by what had just happened. He could still feel Emma’s lips on his—could remember her hands on his body. And he could imagine how much more exciting it would have been had the hands been longer, the lips larger, the body firm and strong against his own...

“Fuck!” he shouted into the quiet street. A woman giving her poodle a midnight walk quickly crossed to the other side. He called out a half-hearted apology and made his way to the bus station, feeling tired, grouchy, and more than a little bit confused. Overall, he concluded, it had been a pretty shitty party.

***

Isak spent Sunday giving himself a self-guided tour of Oslo in an attempt to clear his mind. He wasn’t sure how effective it was, but his body at least felt recovered and ready for another week of dancing by the time Monday rolled over. He had math and general sciences that day, and the content hadn’t gotten any more difficult, so he allowed his attention to wander as the science teacher droned on about balancing chemical equations. Nearly everyone in his class was dozing off or staring blankly into space; Eva was doodling in her notebook beside him and Elias was napping shamelessly with his head on his desk.

Isak saw Emma a few desks beside him by the wall, and he tried to make eye contact, feeling bad about how he’d abandoned her that weekend. After class, when she was stuffing her notebooks in her bag, he approached her.

“Halla,” he said, but his tentative smile was met with a furious glare.

“Yeah? What do you want?” she said tersely.

“I—is everything ok?” he asked, confused by her sudden rage since she hadn’t seemed terribly angry that Saturday.

“Isak,” she said shortly, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I know you lied about going to see Vilde, because Vilde showed up at the party later and had no idea what I was talking about.”

 _“Shit,”_ said Isak. “I’m sorry, I had—“

“I don’t need to hear your excuses,” Emma cut him off. Then, with a muttered “asshole,” she strode off briskly, head held high. Isak groaned and packed his own things, feeling guilty and entirely deserving of her harsh words.

He was distracted as he ate lunch with Eva in the hallway that afternoon, and she must have noticed, as she asked, “Is there something up with you and Emma?”

Isak sighed, debating on how much information to give her. “We kind of had a thing,” he told her. “But I might have pissed her off at a party on Saturday.”

“Really? What did you do?” Eva asked curiously. “And what party was this?” she added with a frown.

“It was just something the level eights threw, and it really sucked so you didn’t miss anything,” Isak assured her. “I left early and Emma got pissy,” he said vaguely, not telling the whole truth but not lying either. Eva squinted her eyes at him suspiciously but didn’t question him further. “Anyways, what did you do this weekend?” Isak asked, steering the conversation away from his and Emma’s relationship. Eva grinned mischievously at the question.

“Well, speaking of hooking up with pas de deux partners…” she began.

Isak gave a gasp of mock horror. “You didn’t. Chris? Really?”

Eva nodded, making a sound that was half laugh and half groan. “I know, I know, he’s so—he’s such a—”

“A cocky fuck?” Isak suggested helpfully.

“Yes, that! But I don’t know, we were talking and it just sort of...happened,” she said. Isak remembered a time when it had “just happened” with her and Jonas, and how he’d done everything possible to try to steal his best friend back. But he had long gotten over his childhood grudge against Eva, and now only felt amusement at his friend’s predicament.

“Well, to each their own,” he said wryly, making Eva swat him on the arm.

“Ugh, are all the pas partners hooking up?” she asked. “Me and Chris, you and Emma...Are Even and Vilde dating?”

“No, but Even has a girlfriend who’s a company member,” Isak told her bitterly.

“Interesting,” Eva mused. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Isak agreed; it wasn’t surprising, but it was painful all the same. He wanted to tell Eva more—to confess the whole story of him and Emma and his perplexing feelings towards Even, but he couldn’t—not yet, anyhow. They ate their lunches in thoughtful silence for a few minutes before a pair of legs Isak immediately recognized as Even’s began walking towards them down the hallway. Isak took out his phone and began blindly scrolling through Instagram in an attempt to act natural. Looking up, however, he realized that Even was standing directly in front of them, sipping coffee in one hand and holding forth a paper bag from the nearby cafe in the other.

“Cheese toastie?” said Even, still holding out the bag. Isak realized he was offering it to him, and he accepted it hesitantly.

“Um, thanks?” Isak said, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

“No cardamom, I’m afraid. You’ll have to make do,” Even said with a mysterious wiggle of his eyebrows, before turning away and strolling down the hallway again. Isak gawked at his retreating figure for a long moment. Then Eva burst out laughing beside him.

“What the fuck was that about?” she chortled. “Cheese toastie?”

Isak closed his gaping mouth and shook his head incredulously. “What can I say—he’s a strange guy.”

But when he bit into the toast, which was warm and delicious but regretfully spiceless, he did so with a secret, gleeful smile.

After lunch, Isak went to men’s conditioning, in which Oscar led the boys of his level through weight training and upper body exercises designed to help them partner girls in pas de deux. Isak tried not to blatantly stare at the straining muscles of Even's arms as he did rapid push ups. When conditioning was over, they moved to the main studio for ballet class, and Isak was intent on apologizing properly to Emma. He found her sitting on the floor, rolling out her feet with a tennis ball, and he slid down to sit next to her.

“So, I need some advice,” he began. Emma didn’t deign to respond, but she briefly met his eyes with veiled curiosity. “Because there’s a beautiful girl in my ballet class and I managed to make her angry, and she has every reason to be because I fucked up and lied to her.”

Emma pursed her lips but didn’t look quite as angry, so Isak continued: “But unfortunately I have two tickets for the company’s production of _Coppelia_ , so if she doesn’t forgive me I’ll have to go by myself,” he said, allowing a sly smile to creep over his face. He watched her carefully for her reaction, and saw her lips twitch upwards although she still looked annoyed.

“Dick,” she said with a slowly widening smile. Isak didn’t contest this and simply gave her an apologetic look, which she seemed to appreciate. “You really got _Coppelia_ tickets?” she asked.

“Well, I may not have actually bought them,” Isak conceded, earning a snort of laughter from Emma. “But I will as soon as the girl forgives me.”

Emma shook her head in exasperation but was grinning broadly at this point. “Fine, I forgive you. Dick.” They then began ballet class, and just like that, things were back to normal. Or at least, as normal as things could be when Isak couldn’t stop himself from staring at Even’s ass as he _plied_ in front of him at barre. When it was time for pas de deux, though, Isak was immensely grateful that Emma didn’t hold a grudge, as it would have made dancing with her awkward.

In pas class, Isak remembered what Even had taught him a few days ago and as a result was vastly improved from last week. He assisted Emma in a clean triple pirouette, and Oscar actually came by and praised him for his improvement. He may not be up to the standard of the other boys in his class yet, but he was proud of the progress he made. If he continued working hard (and managed to sort out his feelings for a certain boy in his class), he was set up for a fulfilling, productive year at the National Ballet School.

Late that night, Isak lay in bed scrolling through texts in the group chat with his Bergen friends. They were engaged in a heated debate about the graphics of the newest FIFA game, but Isak hadn’t had time to play it yet due to his demanding dance schedule. As he had nothing to offer to the conversation, he turned off his phone, suppressing a sudden surge of homesickness. He knew moving to Oslo to train full-time would require sacrifices, but he hadn’t realized it would feel quite so lonely.

But Isak tried to repress his self-pity, since he knew he was incredibly lucky to be at the National Ballet. Moreover, he had Eva to reminisce about home with, and was becoming fast friends with Vilde, Sana, and Even.

Although, when he reflected on Even’s cryptic smiles, cheese toast offerings, and lean, muscled body that Isak was having increasingly inappropriate thoughts about, he realized that the tall dancer may be far more trouble than Isak was prepared to deal with.

“Don’t get too distracted by the hotness,” Magnus had moaned to him jealously when Isak first boarded the train to Oslo and was saying his goodbyes to his friends. Isak had laughed and brushed him off at the time, knowing he could handle being surrounded by girls in revealing leotards and skimpy pink tights without compromising his focus and concentration. But when it came to Even, Isak was slowly realizing that following Magnus’s advice may prove to be a challenge after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was mostly Isak being confused and generally screwing things up, so I'm sorry about that. But happy times are coming soon, I promise!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I love all of you <3<3<3


	5. Fantasie Impromptu

Stately strains of piano music emanated from the grand piano as Sana’s swift fingers accompanied Yousef’s dancing. The level seven boys were currently in variations class, and Yousef had volunteered to go first. He’d decided to go with Solor’s dance from  _ La Bayadère ( _ despite the ballet’s mildly racist tendencies), and Isak thought it was perfect for him.

“Good,” Mikael said from the front of the room, when Yousef landed five turns perfectly in the middle of the dance. “Lift your front leg in your jump,” he called out, when Yousef moved on to the thrilling sequence of  _ grand jete _ leaps in a  _ manège _ , or circle, around the room. He executed the circle of jumps nearly flawlessly, his legs cutting through the air like darts. In the ending pose of the dance, however, he lost his balance and ended up on his butt with his legs sprawled out in front of him, earning laughs from his watching classmates.

“Yeah, we might want to work on that landing,” Mikael chuckled, limping over to give Yousef corrections. Although Mikael had recently been hired by the company, he had injured his knee a few months ago, which was why he was coaching their variations as he healed. Isak smiled as Yousef laughed at his blunder and humbly listened to Mikael’s corrections. It was good to know Isak wasn’t the only one with some work to do before the prix.

Isak glanced over at Even, who was on the floor rolling out his quads with a foam roller, pointedly turned to the wall instead of the center of the room. Not for the first time, Isak wondered what had happened in the past  to make the normally cheerful, expressive dancer shut down whenever Mikael entered the room. But he knew better than to pry, and instead mentally went through the steps of his  _ Don Quixote _ variation, which he would be dancing in front of his peers in a few minutes.

Chris went next, dancing  _ Flames of Paris _ with the explosive jumps and daring arrogance required of the role. Mikael told him to work on refining his technique and bringing more moments of grace and poise into the dance, which Isak agreed with.

When he had finished correcting Chris, Mikael seemed to hesitate a minute before saying, “Even, you’re up.” His tone was carefully void of emotion. At first it seemed like Even was going to ignore him and continue rolling out his muscles, but after a moment just long enough to be impolite, Even stood up and walked to the center of the room.

“What have you decided on?” Mikael asked cautiously.

“ _ Le Corsaire,” _ Even responded tersely, addressing Sana instead of Mikael. But when he stepped into his beginning position he was full of regal grandeur, his callousness cast off to reveal the passionate dancer Isak knew him to be. Isak approved of his choice of variation—the choreography was bold and dynamic, yet still elegant...just like Even. 

Isak felt a shiver go up his spine as Sana began playing and Even performed the first sequence of jumps. Isak often admired Even for his graceful, refined dancing, but here he was proving his lean figure possessed deceptive strength and power along with his characteristic poise. He hurled himself into the air with wild abandon, and the gleam in his eye sent a thrill of some strong emotion coursing through Isak. His pirouettes were a bit off balance, but Isak hardly even noticed. He ended the variation with a breathtaking  _ manège  _ of  _ grand jetes _ , just like in Yousef’s variation, and when he landed on the ground in his final pose Isak had to physically restrain himself from whooping.

Even stood up and bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily as the music died down.

“Nice work,” said Mikael, fidgeting slightly when Even only stared at him blankly in return. The tension between the two of them could be cut with a knife. Mikael cleared his throat and said, “Let’s take a look at the turns though, they were—”

“I was off my leg, I know,” Even interrupted flippantly. “It'll be better once I fix my arms.”

“Yeah,” Mikael said; Even had clearly taken the words out of his mouth. “Do you want to try a pirouette now so we can work on it?”

For a long moment it seemed like Even was going to refuse, as he stared at Mikael with a clenched jaw. But eventually he moved to practice the turn, and did it slightly better than before. Mikael gave him some pointers which Even silently accepted, and by the end his turns were almost perfect. Both Mikael and Even looked relieved when it was time for Elias to do his variation.

“Nice job,” Isak told Even as they both leaned on the barre to watch Elias. He tried to be as casual as possible, but felt oddly exposed as he complimented Even’s dancing. “ _ Corsaire  _ was a good idea.”

Even fixed him with a wide smile. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. Then, in a lower voice he added, “Can’t wait to watch yours,  _ Basilio.”  _ Isak took a hasty swig from his water bottle to hide the fact that his face had gone embarrassingly red.

Elias finished his  _ Sleeping Beauty _ variation with a flourish, and then it was Isak’s turn.

“What have you decided on?” Mikael asked him.

“ _ Don Quixote _ ,” Isak responded, casting a glance at Even. “Basilio’s variation.” Isak settled into the first position of the dance, trying to calm his nerves. Adrenaline was coursing through his body at the prospect of performing the solo in front of all his classmates; he’d learned it off of Youtube a few days ago and hadn’t had much time to practice it in the studio. Sana took a moment to find the right sheet music, and then the music began.

Isak launched into the first double  _ saut de basque _ , jumping as high as possible. He traveled across the floor and made sure to hit his  _ sous-sus _ exactly on the beat of the music. Before he could make it to the  _ pirouette _ combination, though, Mikael stopped him, signalling for Sana to pause in her playing. Isak frowned in confusion; he’d barely made it thirty seconds through the dance.

“Isak, I’m gonna stop you there,” Mikael said, making Isak’s heart sink with humiliation. “It was very good—very careful—but I think you can bring more fire to it. Focus less on being perfect, since we have many weeks to work on the technical aspects, and show me your artistry.”

Isak nodded, his humiliation replaced with determination. Mikael was right; he’d been so focused on his technique that he’d forgotten entirely about embodying the bold character of Basilio. And while perfect technique would always be something Isak had to work on, he knew he was capable of giving a show when it came to artistry. So he took his beginning position again, this time with a roguish glint in his eye.

Sana began playing again, and this time Isak listened to the music and emoted the fiery Spanish bravado inherent in the melody. He did the double  _ saut de basque _ sequence and found it came more naturally now that he was relaxed. When he extended his leg to prepare for the turns, a grin spread across his face; he was genuinely enjoying himself.

The pirouette was a massive failure, his planned quadruple turning into a stumbling double. He hopped out of it and nearly careened off balance, but landed in fourth position with a cocky smirk as if he had given a turn worthy of Mikhail Baryshnikov himself. His classmates laughed at his over the top performance, and Isak grinned in return. If there was one thing he was good at, it was hamming up classical ballet. As he ran to the corner to begin the diagonal of double  _ tours, _ he caught Even’s eye. They only made eye contact for a moment, but Isak could practically feel his intense blue gaze watching him as he began the final sequence of jumps.

Isak’s  _ tours _ were a bit off (he was somewhat distracted by Even’s staring), but he managed to get through them and ended with a turn that was significantly better than the previous one. As the music came to a grand finish, Isak dropped to his knee and grinned cheekily at the mirror, before standing up and panting heavily as the class applauded. He snuck a glance at Even once again and found the taller dancer still watching him intently, his mouth slightly open and his eyes burning with some unreadable expression. But Isak tore his gaze away as Mikael addressed him.

“Great job,” Mikael said with a grin. “I don’t know what you did to improve your artistry, but clearly it worked. Those  _ tours _ are going to need some work, though.” Mikael then had him do the jumps again, giving him pointers and corrections as he did so. By the end, he was so out of breath he couldn’t do any more, so Mikael let him go and moved on to the next variation.  _ I’ll definitely have to work on stamina as well, _ Isak thought to himself wryly.

He returned to stand by the barre, taking a deep sip of water and catching his breath. Yousef came over to clap him on the back. “That was the sassiest  _ Don Quixote _ I’ve ever seen, hands down,” Yousef laughed.

“Yeah I didn’t know you had it in you,” Elias added. Isak snorted and awkwardly accepted their compliments. “Sassy” wasn’t exactly what he’d been going for, but they seemed to have liked it, so he wasn’t complaining. When the noise died down as the class watched Erik begin his variation, the hairs on Isak’s arms suddenly raised as a familiar presence moved to stand right next to him.

“That was fucking awesome,” Even murmured, his voice low and intoxicating in Isak’s ear. He was looking straight ahead, rather than at Isak, as he said it, but that was a good thing because Isak probably would have melted under his gaze. As it was, his whole body felt scorching hot from Even’s words. Their arms were nearly touching from where they leaned on the barre, and Isak couldn’t have moved away even if he wanted to. They stayed like that throughout Erik’s variation, not close enough for it to be weird but close enough that Isak could feel the heat emanating from Even’s body and could smell the faint fragrance of his hair product. 

When Mikael dismissed class and Even suddenly left his side, Isak was simultaneously relieved and distressed by the sudden loss of Even’s presence. But he also felt a swell of happiness and pride as he watched Even’s long legs saunter away. Because he may need to work on his stamina, and his double  _ tours _ were undoubtedly a shitshow, but Even had called his dancing  _ fucking awesome,  _ and that more than made up for everything else.

***

Isak spent the rest of the week working on his variation at every chance he got. He stayed after class every day to drill the dance into his body and practiced the steps over and over until, ever so slowly, he began improving. By the end of the week, he had massive bruises from landing his jumps to the knee, and the tops of his feet had angry red welts from where they’d continually slid across the marley floor. As he ate lunch with Vilde and Even before their last ballet class of the week, he proudly showed them his wounds.

“Isak! That’s gross!” Vilde complained as he stripped his sock to show her the painful abrasion on the top of his foot. “You got that from landing your jumps?”

“Yeah,” Isak grinned. Landing on one knee required sliding one leg out behind him to balance, which caused the skin of his arch to skid painfully on the marley floor. “Check out my knee bruises, though, they’re even better.” He pulled up his Adidas pants to display the impressive purple blemish on his kneecap.

Even snorted from where he sat on the floor in front of Isak. “That’s nothing. Check out mine from doing  _ Corsaire. _ ” He pulled up his own sweatpants to reveal a spectacularly yellow and purple knee (as well as a distractingly well-sculpted calf muscle).

“You call that a bruise?” Isak scoffed, taking a large bite of his sandwich. “Mine is definitely better.”

“It is not!” Even laughed, his eyes crinkling up in the way that made Isak feel light and dizzy.

“Well, my foot wound is more impressive, at least,” said Isak. Even conceded to that, and Vilde covered her face with her hands.

“You two are both disgusting,” she whined. They were then interrupted by Eva, who came out of the girls’ locker room to join them.

“Why are they disgusting?” Eva asked curiously, sitting down next to Isak.

“They’re comparing their gross bloody feet,” Vilde complained. “Please make them stop.”

Eva’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at Isak’s foot. “Oh, you think  _ your _ feet are gross and bloody?” she asked challengingly, reaching down to rip off her sock. “Clearly you haven’t seen what pointe shoes can do to a girl’s feet!” She proudly presented her foot to them, and Isak really wished she hadn’t.

“Jesus fuck, Eva, put that away!”

“Ok, I think you may be the winner here.”

“...I hate all of you.”

***

Ballet class was surprisingly fun, as the British teacher Maria gave them long, hard combinations requiring intricate musicality. Throughout barre, Isak couldn’t stop staring at Even’s lean back, the muscles shifting under his white shirt as he moved his arms to the music. Standing next to him at barre every day was proving to be very distracting. At the very end of class, Maria had the girls practice their  _ foutte _ turns while the boys worked on doing multiple pirouettes. Luckily, Isak was having a good turning day that day.

When class ended and everyone began taking off their shoes, Even stayed in the center of the room and continued practicing his turns. He gracefully did four, but hopped a bit on the landing. Isak scoffed and walked over to stand beside him in front of the mirror.

“You call that a turn?” Isak said, crossing his arms and watching Even with a look of mock superiority. Even raised his eyebrows at him and prepped for another turn, this time using more force and pulling out five pirouettes. He turned to face Isak when he was done, and Isak gave him an unimpressed look.

“What, you think you can do better?” Even grinned.

“Pfft, I can do five turns in my sleep,” Isak boasted.

“Let’s see it then,” Even challenged, stepping back and beckoning for Isak to proceed. Isak prepped his arms and did four rotations, losing momentum before he could add a fifth.

“Bravo,” Even laughed. “Five turns in your sleep, you said?”

“Fuck off,” said Isak, trying again and this time successfully doing five, ending with a balance in  _ passé. _

“Ok, that was good,” Even conceded. But then he managed to do six pirouettes, and Isak couldn’t leave with Even as the victor, so they began a full-fledged turning competition. Everyone else had left the studio by now, so it was just Isak and Even laughing and yelling at each other as they performed their best tricks in the empty room. Isak did six pirouettes, and Even did six ending with a  _ foutte _ . Isak did three with his leg extended to the side before pulling it into an impressive seven rotations, and Even did the same but with his arms above his head in fifth position.

Isak watched Even do his next turn and was mesmerized by the sight. His muscled leg was high in his  _ passé, _ and his head whipped around forcefully, making strands of blond hair escape their carefully styled quiff. Even landed on his knee with a triumphant gleam in his eye, before slapping the ground victoriously and grinning up at Isak.

“That was fine,” Isak said with a shrug, although he was really very impressed with the turn. “But beat this!” he challenged. He intended to do six or seven turns ending with a double  _ tour, _ but his foot slipped on his takeoff and he ended up only doing a shaky double.

“Wow,” Even snickered, clapping his hands mockingly with a grin. “You never cease to impress.”

“Shut up, my foot slipped!” Isak complained.

“Yeah right.”

“It did!”

“Ok, try again then.” Even crossed his arms to watch Isak try the turn again. Isak took a deep breath and began turning, counting in his head, _one, two, three, four, five, six—_

Isak was interrupted by an unexpected nudge to his shoulder, throwing him off balance and ruining what was going to be a very impressive turn. Even had reached out to lightly shove him as he was turning, and Isak spiralled out of the pirouette, spluttering in anger.

“You—that’s cheating!” Isak accused Even breathlessly. “That was going to be such a good turn!” He shoved Even in return, but the other dancer just laughed and let himself be pushed. 

“What, are there rules here or something?” Even asked with an infuriating twinkle in his eye.

“Um,  _ yes?” _ Isak retorted. “I think a basic rule of a turning competition is not to sabotage the other person’s turn!” His tone was angry but when Even kept fixing him with an intoxicating grin, Isak couldn’t help but smile in return.

“I’m sorry,” Even said, not sounding sorry at all. “Do it again, I won’t sabotage you this time.”

With a huff of breath, Isak collected his body and prepared to do the turn again. This time, however, he barely made it through two rotations before Even swooped in and stopped his turn entirely by wrapping his arms around his body.

“The fuck—” Isak began as he stumbled out of the position, dizzy and disoriented from the sudden stop to his momentum. Even’s arms were wrapped around his waist, pulling them flush against each other, and he was looking down at Isak with a shit-eating grin on his face. Isak started to protest, to fight his way out of Even’s grasp, but found that no words would come out of his mouth and his body refused to move away from the warm, strong cradle of Even’s arms.

Even’s smug grin faltered somewhat as they looked at each other, and Isak was suddenly very aware of the press of their thighs against each other and the fact that their faces were mere inches apart. Isak gazed into Even’s wide, startlingly blue eyes and couldn’t have looked away even if he wanted to. They were both panting slightly from the exertion of all the turns, and Even’s plush lips were parted ever so slightly. And then, before he could even process what was happening, Even leaned in and captured Isak’s mouth in a kiss.

Isak felt his brain short circuit in what may have initially been panic, but quickly turned into needy, indescribable desire. He gasped into Even’s mouth and instinctually moved his hands to wrap around Even’s upper back, feeling his shoulder blades shift under the thin cotton of his T shirt, which was hot and slightly damp from class. Even tightened his grip around Isak’s waist as he surged into his mouth, pulling them even closer together and sending violent shivers up Isak’s spine. 

Isak pulled away with a gasp, his heavy breaths mixing with Even’s as they remained pressed against each other in a tight embrace. Even was staring at him with blistering intensity, but Isak thought he saw a hint of his own hesitation and doubt mirrored in his wide blue gaze. While he didn’t relinquish the grasp of his arms around Isak’s waist, Even also didn’t do anything other than stare at Isak with a hint of apprehension in his eyes; Isak realized the next move was his. Tentatively, he removed his hand from Even’s back to tuck back a strand of blond hair that had fallen into his face, letting his fingers brush against the tall dancer’s smooth skin as he did so.

“That...was definitely cheating,” Isak said softly, for lack of anything better to say. Even’s face began slowly spreading into a crinkly smile, but Isak didn’t let it get too far, as he pulled Even in by the nape of his neck and kissed the smile right off his face. 

Even made a soft noise in the back of his throat and angled his head to deepen the kiss. Isak’s knees probably would have collapsed had their bodies not been pressed so close together. Isak had never felt anything like this before; kissing girls had never felt this good, and no girl had ever reduced him to a gasping, weak-kneed mess like Even was doing now.

Isak raised his other hand to clutch at the back of Even’s neck, feeling the silky ends of his blond hair under his fingertips. He inhaled through his nose as they continued to kiss, savoring the warm, heady scent that was uniquely Even. Even slid his hands from Isak’s waist to press intimately on his lower back, bringing them even closer together and causing heat to blossom deep in Isak’s abdomen. Isak could feel the sharp ridge of Even’s hipbone against his thigh, and the dance belt he wore under his tights suddenly felt uncomfortably restrictive. Even shifted his leg, which caused Isak’s groin to unintentionally press against the other dancer’s hard thigh, sending a jolt of overwhelming sensation through Isak’s body.

“Even,” he gasped, tangling his fingers in Even’s hair. “I—”

His words were interrupted by the door to the studio abruptly opening, and Isak impulsively jumped out of Even’s arms. The room filled with noise as a horde of tiny level one girls came in for their class, their posture impeccable in their neat pink leotards and their hair pulled into tight, perfect buns. Isak cast a stunned glance at Even to find him staring back with a mixture of surprise, happiness, and barely-concealed mirth at their unforeseen interruption. Still mildly in shock about what had just happened, Isak exhaled sharply and made his way to the corner, weaving between the tiny girls to retrieve his bag as Even did the same. They made their way outside the studio, saying hello to the instructor of the level one class on the way (thank God she hadn’t seen them a minute before), and then they were alone in the quiet hallway. After a moment of silence, Even burst out laughing.

“Holy shit,” he chortled. “Nothing like eight year old bunheads to ruin a moment.” He clutched his arms to his sides as he laughed mirthfully. As he looked at Isak more carefully, though, his laughter died down. “I’m sorry,” he said, more seriously. “Are you freaking out right now?”

Isak was, in fact, freaking out. Not only had he kissed a boy for the first time in his life, but he had kissed  _ Even, _ and had really, really liked it. Even, who had been unquestionably unattainable, with his perfect dancing and his perfect  _ girlfriend, _ but who also seemed to reciprocate Isak’s desire, if the enthusiastic and searing hot kiss was anything to go by.

Even stepped closer, gently putting his hands on Isak’s shoulders and looking at him with concern. “Really, are you ok?”

Isak’s mind was racing with a million thoughts and his heart was beating fast with a mixture of panic, shock, and giddiness. But in response to Even’s question, he let a smile spread across his face and leaned in to meet Even’s lips with his own for the third time that day. They continued kissing in the hallway until the danger of more eight year old girls walking in on them made them stop.

“I’m more than ok,” Isak eventually told Even. And as he held onto the firm, reassuring strength of Even’s shoulders and stared into his blue eyes that were like a whole goddamn ocean of warmth and affection, he knew it was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is tagged as a slow burn but apparently I'm too impatient for it to actually be slow :D
> 
> Here are the dance videos for this chapter:  
> 1) Yousef's [La Bayadere variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKM7d_kFKGU)  
> 2) an example of [jetes en menage](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SH15FIftCWQ)  
> 3) Chris's [Flames of Paris variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6O_zHJqqo9s&t=71s)  
> 4) Even's [Le Corsaire variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iGAA1emUqJ4&list=RDiGAA1emUqJ4) (the male variation starts at 4:00 but the whole dance is pretty amazing)  
> 5) Elias's [Sleeping Beauty variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYRyOfw0vDg)  
> 6) Isak's [Don Quixote variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lL9OtJU-Y9w)
> 
> Also, if you haven't noticed yet, the chapter titles are all either generic music/dance terms or specific pieces of music. This one is Chopin's [Fantasie Impromptu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvm2ZsRv3C8)


	6. Divertissement

Isak could kiss Even for hours. Warm, pliable lips twining with his own, the smooth skin of his jawline, silky strands of hair tangled in his fingers—it was nothing like Isak had ever experienced, and it was all he wanted.

For all he knew, Isak  _ had _ been kissing Even for hours; time seemed to stretch and warp immeasurably as they lay together in Isak’s bed, savoring the taste of each others’ lips and pulling apart only to talk. The previous night, after the fateful turning competition, Even had come over to spend the night in Isak’s room, although they hadn’t done anything more than kiss (extensively) before falling asleep.

From what Isak’s happily muddled brain could tell him, it was now late in the morning. Even’s arm was loosely wrapped around him as they lay strewn across Isak’s bed, and Isak had his nose buried in Even’s shoulder, inhaling the scent he couldn’t get enough of. Even placed a kiss on his forehead, and the simple action made Isak feel insanely gleeful. He buried his face deeper into the fabric of Even’s hoodie to hide his grin.

“What’re you so happy about?” Even murmured, peering down at Isak with a smile. Isak shifted to gaze at him with one incredulous eye. Why was he happy? Maybe because  _ Even Bech Næsheim was in his fucking bed, _ he thought, somewhat giddily.

But instead of freaking out and/or pinning Even to the mattress and ravishing him right then and there (which he’d been seriously considering for the past several hours), Isak propped himself up on his elbows and said in a matter of fact tone, “I’m happy because the contact of our skin”—he traced a line down the bridge of Even’s nose for emphasis—“is literally releasing hormones in our bodies that induce happiness.”

“What? Like endorphins?” Even asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“No, oxytocin,” he explained. Even still looked confused, so Isak continued. “It’s a neurotransmitter released from skin contact—there are tons of studies on it. It’s literally making us happy and affectionate right now.” Isak knew his current feeling of elation probably had more to do with the novelty of kissing a boy (kissing Even!) for the first time rather than the scientifically proven release of oxytocin but it felt good to rationalize his emotions nonetheless.

“Ok...Mr. Biologist,” Even said skeptically, putting his arms behind his head and grinning down at Isak. But Isak plopped his head back onto Even’s shoulder with a groan in response to the nickname.

“Ugh, I don’t think I deserve to be called a biologist,” Isak lamented into the fabric of Even’s hoodie. “I haven’t learned a single thing in that ‘general sciences’ bullshit class that I didn’t know years ago.”

Even nodded in understanding. “You wanted to study biology, like as a career, right?” he asked.

“I guess…” said Isak. “But I chose ballet, so there’s no point in dwelling on it.”

Even gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Why can’t you do both?” he asked suddenly.

“Biology and ballet?” Isak laughed. But Even was serious. “What, you really think that would be possible?”

“Why not? Maybe not through our academic courses here, but I’m sure you could find something online—you can study biology and dance at most universities. Or for now, Sana could teach you!”

“Sana?” Isak asked, still skeptical. “Would she really have time for that?”

“Sure she would!” Even enthused. “I can ask her on Monday, I’m sure she would say yes. There’s no reason why you should have to give up your academic goals just to pursue ballet.” His tone was sincere, and he reached out to run his fingers through Isak’s hair affectionately. Isak wanted to refuse his help—the whole prospect seemed so implausible—but gazing into Even’s earnest, compassionate eyes, he realized that it wasn’t such a bad idea. He had written biology off as a lost cause when he made his decision to train at the National Ballet, but it didn’t necessarily have to be.

“Ok,” Isak said simply, smiling at Even like a grinning fool.  _ What in the world have I done to deserve this person? _ Isak thought, wondrously. Then, because he didn’t have the words to articulate his thoughts, Isak kissed him. Even sighed into the kiss, and Isak curled his fingers into the fabric of his hoodie, pleasant tingles running all throughout his body as their mouths moved together. Even tasted like honey and the green tea he’d been drinking earlier, and Isak couldn’t get enough of it.

“What about you?” Isak asked eventually. “Your future plans, I mean. Is the company here your dream company?”

Even flipped onto his side so that they were facing each other, close enough that the tips of their noses brushed. “The National Ballet was always my dream company,” he began. “But now I’ll take anything I get, honestly. As long as I can dance.” His tone was quiet and serious, his eyes slightly downcast. 

“Yeah...It means that much to you,” Isak asked, a statement rather than a question. “Why?” It was a question for himself as much as for Even; he’d never been able to pinpoint quite what it was about the grueling, rigorous practice of ballet that drew him to the art.

“I don’t know,” Even said contemplatively. “I guess I like being in control.”

“Control? In ballet?” Isak snorted. “Seems to me like the directors and choreographers are the ones in control,” he said, truthfully. Ballet was strictly hierarchical and professional dancers notoriously had little free will and brutal work schedules.

“Yes, that’s true,” Even conceded. “But when I’m dancing, it’s just me and the music. I command my body and shape the music to my will, you know?” Even spoke with passionate fervor in his blue eyes, and Isak was transfixed. “It’s like...life is a movie, and you can be the director of your own life. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Isak responded. “I don’t agree, though.” From all Isak knew of Darwinian evolution, the origin of mankind, and the remarkable insignificance of individuals within the vast timescale of the rapidly expanding cosmos, Even’s idea was a pleasant but idealistic notion.

“No?” Even asked, brushing Isak’s jaw with his fingertips.

“No. What I think is interesting is the infinity.”

“What do you mean?”

“All the parallel universes out there, and how infinitely big it all is,” Isak enthused. “And how we’re insignificant in comparison. Everything that is going to happen will happen, and is happening right now.”

Even was listening with an unreadable expression on his face, so Isak continued. “There’s probably a parallel universe where there’s an Isak and an Even lying here right now, except...except they’re just regular dudes, and haven’t done ballet in their lives.”

“No ballet…” Even deliberated, as if chewing on the thought. “So you’d be a biologist...and I’d just be some skinny fuck,” he mused.

Isak snorted. “Pretty sure you’re still a skinny fuck, even in this universe,” Isak told him, pointedly nudging his thigh with his own. 

“True,” Even chuckled, raising his muscular but undeniably slender leg into the air before letting it drop back onto the bed. Then he sighed and gazed at Isak again, further pondering his words. “I don’t know. It makes sense, the thought, but I don’t like it,” he said.

“You’ve never thought about it?” Isak asked.

“I have, but...I don’t know. It makes me feel lonely, I guess,” said Even.

“How so?” asked Isak, genuinely intrigued.

Even was silent for a long moment, staring into the ceiling and absentmindedly playing with Isak’s hair. Eventually he turned to him and said, “I guess it just freaks me out—like I’m this insignificant speck, and I only have my thoughts and feelings. Like I’m alone, in my head.”

His voice was quiet and sad, and Isak wanted nothing more than to comfort him, make him laugh, and show him how entirely un-alone he was since Isak intended on being there for him, always. But he’d never been very good with words, so instead he cupped his jaw with a gentle hand and captured his lips in a kiss. Their mouths surged together, languid yet urgent; they had become well accustomed to the taste and feel of each other by now, but it didn’t make the firm press of Even’s chapped lips on Isak’s own feel any less exciting. Isak felt Even curl his fingers gently into his hair as he pressed the hot, slick muscle of his tongue into his mouth, making a violent shudder wrack through Isak’s body.

Not one to be outdone, Isak slid an insistent arm around Even’s waist and bit down on his plump lower lip. Even groaned, deep in his throat, causing a familiar tight stirring low in Isak’s abdomen. He shifted his hips restlessly, his groin hot and aching, as he continued tangling his tongue with Even’s in a slow, urgent dance.

“Fuck, Isak,” Even breathed, breaking away from the kiss to gaze at Isak with dark, dark blue eyes. “Do you have any idea—”

Even’s words were interrupted by a sudden knocking on the door, accompanied by Eskild’s concerned voice saying, “Isak? You alright in there? It’s past noon!”

Isak squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily and silently willing Eskild to go away so they could continue the moment he’d been so enjoying a few seconds earlier. But he knew Eskild was nothing if not persistent, so he reluctantly let go of Even and rolled onto his back with a sigh.

“I’m fine,” Isak called back, not bothering to hide his irritation. “I’m sleeping,” he added. At this, Even raised his eyebrows and ran a hand along his hip in a distracting manner that was definitely not conducive to sleep.

“Ok…” Eskild said skeptically, his voice muffled by the wall between them. Isak caught Even’s wandering hand in his own with a sharp exhalation of breath, meeting the older boy’s smirk with a disapproving gaze that was probably more besotted than disapproving. “Whose shoes are these, then?” Eskild added, making Isak close his eyes with a muffled groan. Reality was starting to pierce the warm, pleasant bubble that has enveloped him ever since Even joined him in his bed last night. He wished he could stay here in Even’s arms forever, oblivious to everything but the feel of his skin and the taste of his chapped lips.

“They’re my friend’s,” Isak called out, keeping his voice flat and void of emotion. It was true enough—Even was, after all, Isak’s friend, and no romantic feelings he had could change that. Thankfully, Eskild seemed to drop the matter, and Isak heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway. Isak let out a pent up breath of relief and nestled his head back comfortably in the crook of Even’s shoulder. Regretfully, the excitement of the previous moment seemed to have passed.

“Sorry,” Isak whispered to Even after a while. He felt guilty for hiding their new relationship from Eskild, but what was he supposed to say? That Even was his boyfriend? Was Even even interested in being his boyfriend?

“Don’t be,” Even murmured back, sliding his long fingers along Isak’s jaw. When Isak didn’t meet his eyes, Even pressed his hand to angle his head towards him, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Really, it’s ok.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m ashamed or anything,” Isak mumbled. “I just—”

Even cut him off with a kiss, warm and achingly tender. “Isak, I know,” he said, gripping his face with his hands and gazing at him intensely. “You’ll tell people when you’re ready, and only then. Then he smiled at him so sincerely that Isak felt like his heart might burst.

_ When I’m ready, _ Isak thought, somewhat wondrously. Suddenly everything felt very real, as he came to terms with the idea that he was, in fact, gay (or at least had rather gay tendencies), and that he was hopelessly besotted with a certain tall, blond dancer. Eva would probably be ok with it, and Vilde as well, but he wasn’t certain about his friends back in Bergen. And of course, his mother was a whole other matter…

“You ok there?” Even asked with concern. 

Isak jolted out of his stupor. “Yes,” he said somewhat breathlessly, before adding, “Thank you.” And he meant it with all his heart. Soon he would have to define their relationship and come out to his friends and family, but that was a matter for a later time. Right now he could simply focus on the simple, glorious feeling of relaxing in Even’s arms, blissfully oblivious to the messiness of the outside world…

As if the universe had heard him and decided to punish him for his optimism, Even’s phone buzzed in his pocket for the third time that morning. With a groan, Even untangled their limbs and extricated his phone from his sweatpants, lifting his head off the pillow to scroll through his messages. When he’d finished reading, he abruptly tossed the phone down beside him and dropped his head back onto the bed with a irritable huff of breath.

“Bad news?” Isak asked curiously. Even turned his head and gave him a small smile.

“The worst. I’m going to have to leave soon—Sonja’s been nagging me.”

“Oh,” Isak said shortly, glaring up at the ceiling and suddenly feeling rather grumpy.

“What?” Even laughed, fixing Isak with his irresistible crinkly-eyed grin. “I told you last night she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Not  _ anymore,”  _ Isak said petulantly, refusing to return Even’s smile even though he knew his jealousy was petty and illogical. It didn’t help that Sonja was a gorgeous, successful dancer who was a  _ girl _ on top of everything else; it was rather hard not to feel insecure.

But Even was having none of that. “Isak,” he said firmly, sliding over so that his face was hovering above Isak’s. “Whatever Sonja and I had is definitely, firmly in the past.” His breath was hot above Isak’s face, and he stared at him with such intensity that Isak was lost and gloriously trapped in his earnest blue gaze. “I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but what I feel for you...I’ve never felt anything like it before. You are  _ everything, _ Isak Valtersen.” He punctuated his words with an earnest, wet, and deliciously messy kiss that made all of Isak’s blood rush to his face and to another particular region in his body. And then, before Isak could so much as move a muscle from where he was pinned on the mattress, Even stood up and began getting ready to leave. Isak subtly adjusted his comforter so that his raging boner was less obvious and watched Even maneuver his long arms into the sleeves of his denim jacket.

“Everything, huh?” Isak asked, putting his arms behind his head as a wide grin spread across his face. Even paused in his movement to give him a twinkling half-smile.

“Don’t get too full of yourself, there are infinite other Isaks I could find in other universes.”

Isak made a sound of mock outrage at Even’s abuse of his own logic, but couldn’t quite conceal his grin. “I assure you, this universe’s Isak is the best one.”

Even stared at him, soft and hungry, before quietly saying, “Trust me, I know.” Then he made his way to the door, said goodbye, and left Isak alone in his room with a muddle of pleasant emotions and a highly distracting erection.

“Even,” Isak whispered to himself, still somewhat in disbelief that the boy was actually real. As he pressed the pillow Even had slept on to his face and inhaled deeply, however, he was reassured that Even was, in fact, very much real and had very much been in his bed  _ making out with Isak _ all throughout the morning. Isak clutched the pillow to his chest and grinned at the ceiling, probably looking like a lovestruck idiot. But Isak found he didn’t care one bit because, well...because Even was turning out to be  _ everything _ to him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Sorry for the long wait between updates—I hope you enjoy this fluffy chapter anyways! I can't commit to a regular chapter-posting schedule and I know how annoying that can be as a reader, so I'm truly thankful to all of you for continuing to read my sporadically updated story :)


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